


straight to the vein

by strong



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Louis, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Leeds - Freeform, M/M, Musician Harry, Pining, Smut, Tent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:14:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5018860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strong/pseuds/strong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a struggling musician trying to find his big break. Of all the beautiful strangers' couches he could've ended up on for a night, it had to be Louis'. It's hard to tell whether finding him is part of a dream or nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	straight to the vein

**Author's Note:**

> i've been writing this since may so the fact that it's finally done is a big relief. its working title was 'edception' so this serves as a disclaimer if you don't like ed sheeran very much, for whatever reason. there's also a tiny bit of gryles, but nothing obnoxious or life-ruining. no smut, no anything like that. 
> 
> my knowledge on making it in the music industry isn't extensive, because if it was, i would be rich and famous and not spending my days writing fanfiction. but please accept what research i did do and call me out if anything seems blatantly wrong.
> 
> and finally a BIG thanks to my good friend [gillian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/louisniall/profile) for writing the incredible smut scene.
> 
> **it's been a month since i posted this and i'm just now realizing that the italics may not have transferred over when i pasted the text on ao3, so. i apologize. i'll try to fix that asap, but until then just try to recognize when there should be italics because it should be obvious to spot, but then again, maybe i should hope it's not. either way please don't hate me for not knowing how to italicize.

 

Harry meets his reflection in the foggy glass. He has a harsh grip on the edge of the sink as water drips from the faucet below. His eyes that were once full of hope and life have finally fallen flat, just dull green irises surrounding empty black. A year ago, when he looked into this same mirror, he had just came to London with a pocket full of cash and a rucksack full of clothes. Little did he know back then that it wouldn't be an easy holiday, that he would end up on the streets before he even knew the names of them.

His set starts in six minutes according to the watch he never takes off his wrist. A free show, the sixth one this week. Originally he contacted about fifty businesses and promised to play for no pay because he wanted to get his name out, and about half of them got back and agreed for a few nights each week. He went to every open mic too, with desperation, in hopes of his big break. Harry didn't realize that music producers and record label owners don't prowl dingy pubs as much as he liked to think. But by the time he realized that getting noticed wouldn't be so easy, he was in too deep to start asking for pay. The first time he tried doing that, the owner called him selfish and dropped his performance slots, so. Mouth only open for the entertainment of the masses. Noted.

Pushing off the counter, Harry saunters out of the bathroom, heading back through the main floor of the pub to get to the stage. It's a small thing with just enough space for a band to feel comfortable. Harry obviously doesn't need this much space for himself anyways. He'd be fine with a barstool on a table, but having a proper setup is nice too.

His guitar is already laying on the back corner of the platform. He pops open the case and picks it up, resting it gently in his hands. For all the things he's lost or ruined since coming to this city, his guitar is the one item he keeps in the best condition. The case it lives in is battered to no end, but as for the instrument itself, the most it has are some minor scuffs and a tiny crack along the base of the neck. It's the only thing keeping him alive here and if it goes, he knows that he'll go with it. Busking isn't as profitable if you sing songs no one knows without the backing of an instrument.

Once he's checked that the microphone works and his guitar can be heard throughout the place, Harry introduces himself. The lights dim as he does so, a small spotlight aimed at him. He squints then goes straight into the first song, a few people whooping for the start of their promised night of live music. 

A song or two in, he gets someone to come on stage with him and sing along, much to the audience's amusement. This is Harry's escape route or backup plan, if you will. Even if someone doesn't like what he's performing, there's a chance he'll still grab their attention by doing entertaining things that other singers don't. Inviting people on stage, free styling lyrics and admitting it, swiping a drink from someone near the front. It gets cheers and whistles and of course, his looks do help in the female outreach. 

They don't have to know that he's not interested and never will be. The guys don't have to know that Harry is secretly eyeing them down all night rather than the girls in short skirts and tight tops that sit beside them.

"I'm out in this city every night you know," Harry starts as the last song of his set nears. His fingers are still strumming a catchy pattern as he speaks. "It's tough out here. I do most of these shows for free, and the only money I get is from the EPs you all buy either straight from my hands or out on iTunes. Any option is acceptable. Anyways, I'll go ahead and prompt this now— If any of you have a free sofa tonight, hit me up after the show. I need somewhere to sleep and if you could help me out, that'd be incredible. Now here's my final song, it's called Broken Youth."

As his set comes to a close with a roaring applause from the crowd of fifty or so in the pub, Harry feels the exhaustion starting to take over. He chats with a few people afterwards and they compliment him before apologizing for not having space for him to sleep. It seems like complete bullshit, but Harry smiles and shrugs each word off all the same. A few groups of friends come up to him to buy handfuls of CDs and he gives them hugs and handshakes, laughing while thanking them for buying him dinner tonight. In the end, there are no offers for a sofa so Harry slithers out of the building quietly.

Being back on the streets sadly feels like being home. As soon as he steps out the door into the dark outside world, he sets off in a direction he only vaguely recognizes. Cars zoom past, cabs and busses ready to transport anyone in need, the sounds giving Harry a strange sense of familiarity. He still always has to fight the urge to call one out to drop him off back in Holmes Chapel. 

His boots scrape the ground, too many holes letting in the cool night breeze. Harry can't remember the last time he wore a different pair of shoes. The same brown boots have been with him since he hopped on the train to London and they've learnt each brick on the grounds of this city the same way they've become one with the same few black stages. Thinking about it, Harry probably has enough money to buy a pair of sneakers from a thrift shop now. They may be from the 80's, but at least they could provide some comfort. Maybe he'll check that out at some point tomorrow.

His long trek ends at a bench, simple and isolated under a large blossoming tree. Harry doesn't know what park he's arrived at, but he can see Buckingham Palace in the distance. Funny that there's a place of such luxury and riches within his reach but here he is, setting his belongings down on the cold ground and laying back on a dirty metal bench. 

There's no comfort to it whatsoever. The bottom bars dig into his spine, the arm rests not giving him enough space to stretch out fully. It's probably past midnight at this point. The guards at the palace should be asleep, Harry thinks. He could make a break for it and grab a heated blanket from one of the two hundred closets in the building. They would catch him and he'd try to explain that he's not a thief, he just needed to borrow the blanket to get him through the night. They'd feel bad when he started his walk back to his bench and invite him to stay in the queen's bedroom then proclaim him the new royal baby.

With those final fantasies, Harry falls asleep. One hand remains wrapped on his guitar case, the strap of his rucksack wrapped around his arm. It's not an ideal life, but Harry gets by. Sure his stomach may growl once or twice and his skin is coated in layers of grime, but if this is what it takes to make it, then hell if he'll let it beat him. In five years all of this will be a dark memory on the treacherous path to success— He's sure of it.

 

☾

 

As it turns out, a bench isn't any more comfortable than concrete. When Harry wakes up the next morning with a crick in his neck, locked knees, and an overall distorted posture, he decides he's never doing such a miserable thing again. If he doesn't get a sofa to surf tonight he'll head back to that one alley behind the gay strip club because there's always suspicious fabrics thrown near the dumpster. They may not be sanitary, but they sure do make for a great pillow if not a passable bed.

He passes the long hours of daylight busking outside of the Palace because when he's already within walking distance, why shouldn't he? Many of the people who drop change in his guitar case seem to be foreign tourists who have never seen a street act before. He smiles and answers any ridiculous questions they have about his hair and where he lives, but also tries to focus on playing as much as possible to show what he's got in the minute that he has anyone's attention.

At the end of the day, he racks up about one hundred pounds, tips and CD sales counted together. That's pretty successful in the eyes of someone with an average daily income of one fourth that. The reminder of needing new shoes pops up in a back corner of Harry's mind, but ultimately his exhaustion wins out over a shopping excursion. He decides to start towards the location of his gig tonight, choosing proper rest over how his feet are presented. 

Tonight he hasn't got his own slot or anything. Instead, it's an open mic. These kinds of nights are the ones that Harry tries to fully prepare himself for because with more talent, there's more chance for a talent scout. They prowl events where there's subtle competition and room for comparisons more than they show up at live gigs where they can only judge the artist off of what ' _special vibe'_ they give off.

Trying to navigate London without an electronic device telling him how many feet until his next turn is quite difficult. Harry holds his long hair back with one hand as he squints down at the brochure-sized map in his other. The more he walks around, the more he wants to pass out, but he refuses to hail a cab and use his hard earned money when he has legs. It would be nice if karma could be on his side to prevent him from continuously walking down the wrong paths. 

Facing the opposite direction of the way the map is coordinated is hard to grasp so every now and then Harry goes the wrong direction on the right street only to find himself another block further from where he needs to be. If his phone were charged, he'd type in the address and his problem would be solved. Sadly it hasn't seen life in four days, when Harry drained the last of the battery checking his email for more gig opportunities. 

When he finally gets there after nearly forty minutes of roaming around in desperation to find a familiar site, the bar is already starting to fill up. The open mic doesn't start for another two hours but most people like to show up early to snag a table and get a few good drinks in. There's a thrumming bass echoing around the room. It holds a steady rhythm that starts to lull Harry to sleep and he still hasn't even found a place to sit down. Eyeing around, he spies an empty booth off in the back where things seem a bit calmer. He heads that way, guitar case bumping against his shoulder blades as his feet start to hit the ground heavily.

No one should be trusted in places like this, especially not enough to leave prized possessions under a table while you sleep. That's exactly what Harry does though and he figures if his things get stolen, at least he'll have well restored energy to go and chase the thief down. The cushions under him prompt a deep sigh from his heavy lungs. Bending and shifting until he doesn't stick off the edge of the chair, Harry finds a comfortable position. All he can do is hope that the loud laughter and clinking of glasses will wake him in due time to perform.

 

☾

 

A scream works too.

As soon as Harry hears the screech coming from somewhere near him, he stirs, scrunching his face into the crook of his elbow. He releases a long breath but doesn't pick himself up yet. The feeling of rest after his lack-there-of last night is too wonderful to free from his grasp so soon.

"Shit, Zayn, is he dead?" A frantic, high pitched voice asks. 

Harry has no idea who Zayn is but obviously Harry is the only one who looks to be dead in this bar— at least, he _hopes._ So with all the strength he can muster, Harry pulls himself into a sitting position, stretching his arms out and yawning before looking up at whoever is about to have him buried alive.

It's a guy. A boy or a man, Harry can't be too sure. Judging by the dusting of facial hair it's probably someone nearer to his age, but then again, the stranger's eyes are too blue and bright to be old enough to have seen all the bad in the world. He's attractive though, wispy brown hair falling in his face, hand clasped around a sweating bottle, exposing a few wrist tattoos under his denim sleeve. It looks like he has a rope on his wrist right where Harry has an anchor, and if that's not fate, then what is?

"I'm not dead," Harry states with a small reassuring smile. 

"Oh, thank God," the guy says, dropping his stiff shoulders and tilting his head to run his fingers through his hair. "I don't know proper death etiquette. You would've ended up in the dumpster out back or something, mate."

"I'm sure I've been there before anyways," Harry laughs. The guy's eyebrows pinch because he obviously doesn't get Harry's reference to being homeless, but he'll understand in due time. "So did you need to sit down? I can move or–"

"No, don't do that! I mean, you don't _have_ to do that," he corrects over some chuckling from the two equally attractive guys standing behind him. "Stay. If I'm taking over your bed, you should at least join us for a drink or two."

"So you know etiquette for hopping into a sleeping man's bed at a bar, but not for finding a corpse?" Harry asks. He kicks his guitar case and bag further under the bench and scoots over so that Bright Eyes can slide in. His other friends – one of whom must be Zayn – make themselves comfortable on the other side of the table.

"I've got street smarts all around, alright. Death just isn't something that's come up in my training courses yet," the beautiful stranger jokes with wicked eyes. "I'm Louis by the way."

"Zayn," the skinny guy with a buzzed head and a stunning face nods at Harry.

"Liam," the beefier brunette adds.

"Nice. I'm Harry," he says with a polite little wave of a few fingers. 

"So is it too soon to ask why you were sleeping here?" Louis questions, his penetrating gaze locked straight on Harry's tired eyes.

Harry thinks for a second about what to say. In the end, what comes out is, "I didn't get a good rest last night and I needed to be here for the open mic anyways."

"Oh, are you singing?" Liam asks with genuine interest. 

Of all three boys, he's got the nicest face. Not appearance wise– Louis takes the crown there –but on a scale of literal kindness. His rounded cheeks and squinty brown eyes remind Harry of a teddy bear (or maybe his sleep deprived brain is merely becoming too imaginative).

Either way, Harry nods in response and laughs when Louis gasps.

"You're a fucking singer! That's sick! Those two can sing pretty well but they're too damn scared to do it in front of anyone but me," Louis pouts in mock sympathy. Harry doesn't focus on his glossy lips. 

"Always have to drag me in," Zayn speaks up, rolling his eyes. He's got his hands on the tabletop, rubbing his thumb across a large tattooed design on the back of one wrist.

"It's only because I love you, Zaynie," Louis says innocently. 

For the whole two minutes that Harry has known him, Louis is turning out to be quite a devilish little shit. There's no reason for Harry to be turned on, but that doesn't stop him from imagining things that are too inappropriate even for seedy bar talk. Louis talking back in bed, biting his skin and commanding Harry to– no.

As Harry desperately attempts to suppress those sorts of thought, Louis decides it's a perfect time to take another long sip of his beer. He wraps his lips around the entire rim of the bottle and Harry becomes entranced not only by that, but by the way his Adam's Apple bobs up and down with every swallow. _Clean thoughts, innocent thoughts,_ becomes his new mantra.

"You guys should do it next time," Harry suggests. "Open mics are pretty fun. Even if you fuck up, someone will still cheer. Take it from me; I forgot the lyrics to my song once so I started singing about the chicken I had eaten earlier and everyone loved it."

"What kind of chicken was it?" Louis asks before Zayn or Liam can get a word in about what really matters.

"Something from Nando's, I know," Harry remembers. "Not sure what flavor 'cos it was my friend who ordered them and I just stole a bit off him."

"You can stay away from my drink then, ya thief," Louis bites. Something tells Harry that Louis has already consumed a few beers before now. Unless his personality is naturally this fluctuating and sarcastic which is always a possibility too.

"I honestly can't stand beer, so no problem there," Harry smiles before the table falls to a comfortable silence. 

Like clockwork, the first of the singers for tonight hops on stage. He's a younger guy with his hair shaved on the sides and a bright, hopeful smile. Judging by the ukulele he holds and clean clothes he wears, he's got a nice dream to be in the music industry, but he's either new to the scene or wealthy enough already to pursue it with ease. Louis, Zayn and Liam all clap when he introduces himself as Calvin. _No last name for anyone to look him up online,_ Harry notes, clapping twice, _total rookie._

The songs he sings are upbeat and get the atmosphere of the place up to a more cheerful standard. All four of them are tapping on the table to the fast tempos and bopping their heads mindlessly. Considering Louis is right next to him, always in his line of sight, it should only be expected that Harry fears his imminent doom every time Louis turns to smile at Liam or Zayn. His jawline is sharp and his eyes squint as he places his canine teeth on display in fits of drunken laughter. He's a natural beauty and Christ, Harry needs to get ahold of himself. Pretty boys are rarities. You have to play your cards right or else you're stuck with a fake number in your phone and blue balls for the record books.

His attention is only heightened when Louis meets Harry's eyes. "You know, funny enough, I slept with him once," Louis decides to tell him. "Good in bed, but a total prick afterwards. The morning after, he kicked me out and begged me not to tell anyone so his _girlfriend_ wouldn't find out. Always wondered what ever happened to him. This isn't the crushing end to him that I was hoping for."

Pushing aside the hints of jealousy, Harry laughs. "There's always time for him to crash and burn. Come back in a year and he'll be playing here again with a drug addiction and a disease from a girl he unknowingly shares with twelve other men."

This gets a great reaction from Louis. A full on closed-eye cackle, his head tipping backwards and everything. Harry is truly blessed.

"Jesus, you're fucking _dark_ ," Louis states in amused awe. His eyes look almost purple, reflecting the distorted lighting of the bar, but they're wide and electric all the same. "Like, darker than me. That's a feat. I like you, Harry. We're officially friends now. Best friends for life, just like me and those two. Wanna beer? I never buy them any, I can make them jealous." 

His loud rambling competes with the live music but easily claims the crown. It's entertaining seeing a stranger become so quickly enraptured by Harry, who is as uninteresting as a Tuesday night news story. Nevertheless, Harry accepts the friendship offering and gently reminds Louis of his distaste for the alcoholic beverage. 

By the time Harry drags himself and his guitar onstage, it's about eleven and the room's average intoxication level is somewhere between .08 and 108. He introduces himself the same as every other time, performs a familiar short set of songs, but this time it's comforting to hear particularly loud cheers from his apparent new set of friends. 

Each time he look to the crowd he catches himself shifting his gaze to Louis, always wondering how he's enjoying the performance. Luckily the smile never fades and his cheeks remain glowing as ever each time he takes a swig of beer and nods at Harry. As the fun times near an end, he gears up for his closing song. Like always, he makes an ice breaking joke before leading into the question that decides his fate for the night and the next day.

"If anyone here has a free sofa I could crash on for the night, that'd be great. You can just hit me up after the-" Harry slowly fades out as a loud voice interrupts him.

Over in the back corner, at the familiar booth where Harry's rucksack lay, an arm raises, a bottle still firmly clasped in a small hand like it's been glued there. "I've got you, mate!"

There are a few titters and even Harry can't help but snort and smirk at the childish, smug expression of this ridiculous man he's known for all of an hour. "Cheers, Louis."

 

☾

 

And that's how Harry ends up in a cab alone with Louis. Liam and Zayn gave him props on his voice then announced they were heading home for the night, casually hinting for Louis to do the same. They weren't nearly as drunk as him even though at some point Harry is pretty certain that Louis ordered two full rounds of suspicious bright orange shots for them all. There's a good chance Louis downed them all by himself.

"Do you even remember where you live?" Harry asks, lightly teasing Louis who is entranced by everything outside of the car's window.

Louis scoffs without turning around. "Of course I do. I'm just a little tipsy, Harry, not an idiot," which, alright. That doesn't make perfect sense, but he can let it slide.

"Whatever you say."

The ride to Louis' place is remotely short and uneventful. No drunken hookups happen, no sloppy grinding, no extra bills handed to the driver in a half-hearted apology. Not that Harry particularly wanted any of that to occur anyways because while Louis is gorgeous, one night stands aren't really his thing, especially when there are promised friendships lying behind them.

Louis leads them into a decent looking building then stops abruptly at the bottom of a metal staircase, throwing his head back and groaning.

"Fucking stairs. Why can't I live on the bloody second floor instead of the fifth," he complains. 

"I could carry you if you'd like," Harry offers. 

Louis turns to look at him and seems to seriously consider it for a minute before he frowns at Harry's backpack and shakes his head. "No, I can do this myself. You're a great man for offering though. Just promise you'll catch me if I pass out or trip backwards."

"I promise," Harry smirks, holding a pinky up.

So they set up the stairs at a slow pace with minimal whining on Louis' part. It's funny to watch him groan and lean heavily on the railing, mumbling under his breath about how shitty this place is for not having an elevator. When they get to the right door, Louis pats around his jeans before pulling out a small golden key.

He jams it into the lock and twists, but when he turns the knob, nothing happens. It seems to be a normal occurrence as he knocks his shoulder into the wood and simultaneously tugs up on the handle until finally it gives in and swings open. Louis stumbles inside, almost falling but not quite. He laughs at himself before flipping on a light switch and gesturing for Harry to come in.

It's not much. There's a basic layout, small kitchen and average den; everything you'd expect in a decent one bedroom flat. One thing Harry does notice is the scattered art supplies and canvases laying around on countertops and all over a tilting coffee table.

"You're an artist?" Harry asks.

"Sort of," Louis says nonchalantly as he kicks his sneakers off by a fake potted plant. Harry holds in a snort when Louis loses balance and almost topples over. "I mean, I draw and design stuff. Concert posters and shit. It's not even _art_ , but people pay me for it so I'm not complaining." He spins around to face Harry, his hair falling over his squinted eyes. A gracious smile slowly appears on his thin lips. "My creativity is extremely high right now. I would draw you because you're very.. pretty looking, but sadly my head and stomach are fighting for the right to kill me after those last few shots."

"The thought is what counts." That sounds true enough. Sure, having a guy - who just called him _pretty_ \- draw him would be grand, but Harry will take what he can get. And at the moment, what he's getting is a sofa and some company which is more than enough.

Louis smiles once more and then pads down a short hall to an open door which apparently leads to his bedroom. He makes no noise on the carpeted ground as he comes back into the den with his arms full of a large furry blanket and a red pillow. He chucks them both onto the sofa haphazardly, narrowly avoiding knocking a cup of paintbrushes over.

"There are more blankets in my room if you need them, and if you smoke, just unclasp that window and go out on the fire escape please," Louis says, pointing at the large aforementioned window. He's starting to sound much more tired and far less bubbly than mere minutes ago.

"Alright mate, thanks again for this," Harry says earnestly. He's toeing off his boots now and gently sets them next to his other belongings, moving closer to where Louis stretches onto his toes next to the sofa. 

"Don't mention it," Louis waves off with a flick of his wrist.

Harry yawns and Louis follows shortly after. He starts cackling again, quieter but with the same scrunched face expression. It's pretty damn cute. Twenty-something year olds shouldn't be so damn cute.

"You made me yawn," Louis says through his laughter. He's walking closer to Harry now and Harry doesn't know what to do but stand still and let the smaller boy get into his personal bubble. Suddenly, Louis wraps his arms loosely around Harry's middle, snuggling his head into Harry's chest for a moment as he mutters, "Goodnight, pop star."

"Goodnight, Da Vinci," Harry laughs, rubbing his back gently. 

Once they're separated, Louis grins at him one last time then goes back into his room. He shuts the door and then he's gone for the night. Well, at least his physical body is out of sight because Harry can still hear him shuffling around and humming tunes to himself. It serves as a nice lullaby. So Harry turns the light off, uses the moonlight to find his way back to the sofa, and snuggles into the fur blanket, curling his entire long body under the warmth.

For the first time in a long while, Harry falls asleep with the pleasant scent of cinnamon surrounding him and a beautiful boy just a thin wall away. To think that he was on a park bench the night before is incredible. Shows how far you can come with a bit of luck and the kindness of odd strangers.

 

☾

 

It's a slight shock when it's not the sound of a siren or dogs barking that wakes Harry up, but instead the loud clanging of a pot falling to the ground. He startles from his dreams, his heart leaping in his chest and eyes blinking open to examine his surroundings. No cement under him is the first thing he notes which gives way for him to remember that he's not on the streets this time. He's at Louis' place, on his extremely comfortable sofa, not being attacked by a masked murderer with a pot as a weapon.

"Shit!" A voice hisses nearby.

Harry lifts his head just enough to see brunette hair in the kitchenette in the corner of the room. His senses become alert when he notices the lack of a shirt Louis is wearing. His back faces Harry, muscles moving around underneath smooth, tan skin, leaving a glorious picture on display. It's absolutely sinful– a perfect wake up call.

"You alright?" Harry asks. His voice is extra deep and rough which is interesting to hear since he normally doesn't talk to anyone in the morning.

Louis whips around and catches sight of Harry, his blue eyes blown wide and– Oh, wow, he's got chest tattoos. The words 'It Is What It Is' swirling below his collarbones and a 78 printed above his left pec. There are more scattered along his arms that weren't visible last night, but none of them compare to the chest pieces Harry's eyes are attached to right now. Even the large bicep tattoo falls behind them in the rankings.

"First of all, my face is up here," Louis scolds, raising an eyebrow at Harry. The tiny smirk soothes Harry's hurr. "Second, I'm not alright. I just fucking dropped a kettle on my toe. I'm going to die," he says, his face resorting back to a grimace.

"If you die can I have your flat?"

"Funny. Hilarious. A true comedian you are. Help me," Louis deadpans. 

He puts the kettle down on the stove and hobbles over to the sofa. His step is heavy, trying desperately not to walk on his toe. He drops right on top of Harry's legs as soon as more room is made for him on the other cushions. When Harry gives him an incredulous look, Louis ignores it and holds his foot up.

"What do I do?" He whines.

Harry sighs but inspects his injury. It doesn't look bad at all. There's some redness around the nail but other than that, Harry's nonexistent expertise in medical help is unnecessary.

"All you need to do is ice it and _maybe_ wrap it with a bandage," Harry informs. "I don't think you needed me to tell you that."

Louis hums. "Maybe not. But I enjoy being a nuisance to all of my friends, even my shiny new ones. Just be glad you aren't Liam because I would've shoved my foot straight into your face."

"Am I supposed to say thank you then?" Harry presses his lips together to hold back a laugh.

"Or you could play me a song, mister music man. Either works." Louis grins as he sinks back into the sofa and crosses his arms, the toe obviously not as important as he originally made it out to be.

"That is not happening," Harry sighs. "I'm too tired right now. I probably do need to go once I'm more alive though because I need to busk and get some money for food."

Louis stares at him. Just wraps his palm around his toe and stares, all while still sitting leisurely on Harry's legs. "Are you proper homeless then?"

For someone else, that may be an intrusive question. Harry could easily play that card and avoid sharing the embarrassing answer, but it just seems easier to tell the truth. It's pretty much public information anyways.

"Yeah, I guess I am. I've got my parents' home in the countryside but out here I only know a handful of people and have to hunt for a bed each night."

"So you sleep on a different sofa every night or something?" Louis asks.

"Normally I can find a free place, yeah, but when I can't, I have to sleep on the streets. It's not ideal but it does build some good survival skills," Harry reasons with a small breathy laugh.

Louis appears indifferent. It's like he's heard this story before. This guy came up to him once and explained the struggles of being homeless already and Harry's story just doesn't compare, sorry.

"Stay with me," Louis says as nonchalant as ever, eyes cast right beside Harry's head. Indifference may have been a reach then; Harry stands corrected.

That doesn't change the fact that he isn't looking for charity though. Harry got himself into this game knowing full and well the sacrifices he'd have to make. Staying at someone else's place for longer than a night costs money that Harry doesn't have and if he needs to feed himself or buy new clothes, he can't be emptying his pockets for a split water bill.

"No," Harry states firmly. 

Louis looks offended that his offer was declined. His blue eyes flood with confusion, bum wiggling around like he's suddenly become unsettled.

"Listen, I'm not trying to out you of your hard-earned money or anything. I make more than enough to pay for a full family to live here." Harry's eyes widen on their own accord and Louis rolls his, continuing on with his convincing rambling. "I over exaggerated but yes, I know. Little artist me making decent money, what a shocker. Anyways, I get lonely being here by myself all the time, you know? Working from home is some tough shit. So I mean, I'm lonely and you need somewhere to sleep— Try to tell me that's not a perfect fit."

And try he might, but Harry can't get himself to do it. Even though he's still half convinced that this entire exchange is a sleep induced hallucination, his hazy self can't think of a reason to turn such an offer down now. For a year Harry's been on the street wandering from ripped sofa to dirty pavement block. Every time he takes a piss in a club he catches sight of himself in the mirror and shakes his head, disappointed in how little he's accomplished so far. With a real temporary place to stay, he could clean himself up and try to sell CDs from his rucksack with a genuine smile rather than a hopeless half-assed one. He could get proper rest before gigs and maybe even charge his phone so he can talk to the friends who are a few too many miles away for comfort.

"What's the ultimatum here? Isn't there something _actually_ in it for you?" Harry asks suspiciously because trust is what he's lost in this city.

"It's too early for me to lie to you, Styles," Louis sighs. "I just used a bruised toe as an excuse to get attention. Don't you see how badly I need companionship here? I'm fucking dying, sitting around by myself trying to draw for hours on end. Just accept my offer and sleep on my sofa, damnit."

Harry has taught himself never to trust a pretty boy with a big mouth. Louis fits that description to a T, adding his own special flairs such as an obsession with physical affection and lots of bank. As much as it pains him to admit it, there's just something in Louis' fiery eyes that draws Harry in further. Blue flames consume his irises rather than bright red and maybe blue fire is hotter in real life, but for some reason it seems cool and kind in its current standing.

So Harry agrees to 'move in' with a guy he met at a bar one day ago. 

Naturally.

 

☾

 

It's a day and a half of ice breaking conversations and countless lost games of FIFA later that Harry decides he should bathe. Louis had casually mentioned the previous day that Harry could do so whenever he wanted, but it seemed too soon for Harry to waste water when there wasn't even _that_ much grime on him yet. So he's waited patiently until he fully passes the point of needing a shower into the realm of desperately _wanting_ one.

They rest in the living room together, Harry sitting with his knees drawn to his chest while Louis leans over the coffee table littered with paper and Chinese takeaway boxes. Louis hasn't fully disclosed what he's working on and Harry is curious. For a while Louis was doodling a pattern of sharp angles and diverse colors until he slowly faded into sketching a variety of pastel painted flowers. It's mesmerizing, the way he works so vehemently and secretly but still throws out a lighthearted comment or two to spur on conversation. 

"Flowers don't smell half as good as they look. It's a shame," Louis says, capturing Harry's attention from where it's drifted to a message on his freshly charged phone.

Harry's eyes immediately dance over Louis' exposed shoulder blades in the thin white vest he's got on. Somehow just his back looks incredible. Paired with dark grey sweatpants snug to his thighs and a headband holding his long fringe back, it's safe to say that Louis makes pure laziness look like haute couture.

"Sometimes they smell alright," Harry says.

"They never do. They smell like you," Louis teases, turning to grin at Harry. He laughs when Harry flips him off. "Seriously though, don't be scared to use my shower. I don't care much about hygiene but I refuse to let you avoid bathing when I know you probably need to."

Well, Harry had to be told the truth some time or another.

"Are you forcing me to bathe?" 

"Yes," Louis replies with a sweet smile. 

Harry slumps in defeat. "Fine. Where are the towels?"

"Under the sink."

Harry stands up and rolls his eyes when Louis twiddles his fingers in a goodbye wave. He sets off to the bathroom which is attached to Louis' room. It makes it difficult when Harry has to piss at night because he has to tiptoe across the floor to avoid squeaky spots and flush the toilet without waking Louis up. Louis claims he's a heavy sleeper, but Harry left the light off when he travelled in the room last night just for extra precaution.

He locks the door behind him and whips a bright red towel out from underneath the sink. It's large and fluffy and very out of place in an apartment like this. For the first time in a few days, he looks into the mirror. Not too much has changed apart from his face looking more alive and the bags under his eyes having slowly faded. Tiredness still sleeps in the joints of his bones but overall, having a safe home is starting to pay off quickly. 

It takes a minute for him to fumble around with the shower knobs and get the right temperature. When he's okay with it, he strips down and hops right in, standing under the spray to make sure every part of him is warm and thoroughly soaked. It's times like this when Harry realizes just how long his hair is. With the water weighing it down, it goes past his shoulders and stops near the top of his spine.

Of course with a shower comes the remembrance that he hasn't had a good wank in God knows how long. There aren't many private places to do it and he rarely sleeps around, so his case of blue balls is one for the record books. As much as he tries to focus on lathering his hair with shampoo, the itching to touch himself simply won't go away. Isn't there some sort of rule against jerking off in someone else's shower? Hotels are already iffy, so surely a private tub has some boundaries.

Rationality can never win the battle against hormones. Harry makes a valiant attempt at ignoring the building problem, but in the end he loses. In a swift motion he wraps his hand around himself and slowly moves it up and down once, immediately groaning. It's been far too long since he's done this. 

His pace picks up fairly quickly, either due to his desperation or need to be secretive or both. With shampoo used to slicken the glide of his palm, Harry twists and flicks his wrist at all the right times to get himself going. It feels great, but something's missing. The feeling is there in his groin, yet there's no pleasant image in his mind to top it off. Normally he thinks about football players changing in locker rooms or a naked version of whatever celebrity he's into at the time. Now though, there's someone else pushing to the forefront of his brain and he's fighting against letting them appear, working faster to reach his peak before any inappropriate thoughts can make themselves clear.

Harry tilts his head back against the tiles that are so cool against his back. He's breathing heavy in the steamy space, cursing quietly under his breath. Just as his gut tightens and the incredible feeling rushes down his body, the forbidden image shines through. Blue eyes, smooth skin, intricate tattoos swirling over soft curves. All of these things bombard him just as he hits climax. It's the dirtiest he's felt in a while, which is ironic considering where he's standing. But how could he not feel guilty when the guy he just orgasmed over is sitting two rooms away, completely oblivious to the situation happening in his own bathroom.

Harry stands under the spray to rinse himself off as he catches his breath. After that, he works as fast as possible to condition his hair, scrub at his skin with soap, and rinse it all off again. By the time he's walking back into Louis' room with the red towel wrapped tightly around his waist, the odd feeling in his chest has dissipated some. He rifles through his bag sitting beside the door, sniffing each clothing item and discovering that they're all pretty disgusting. As much as he feels ashamed for his previous actions, he decides he has no option other than to borrow some things from Louis.

Harry steps out into the den, dripping onto the carpet. "Hey, do you have some clothes I can borrow? Joggers and any shirt would be fine."

Louis turns around from his place on the sofa and gives Harry's body an obvious scan. Harry is as shirtless as ever and he's checked Louis out before so hey, a man can return the favor. 

"My clothes range from extra small to medium," Louis laughs. He stands up and starts walking towards Harry, his toes popping on the ground. "But I'm sure I can find something. Remind me to throw your clothes in with my batch before I go down to the laundry room tomorrow."

Harry waits patiently in the doorway while Louis tugs drawers out and recklessly searches every hanger in his wardrobe. In the end he comes up with some grey joggers, white briefs, and a large black shirt decorated with marijuana leaves. When Louis throws him the shirt, Harry catches it and raises a taunting eyebrow.

"Fuck off, one of me mates got me that as a gag gift," Louis defends. He crosses his arms then looks sheepishly at his feet. "I _did_ have quite an ugly phase though. I smoked and wanted everyone to know it. Embarrassing as hell, I was, walking around in weed shorts and socks to match."

"When exactly was this phase?"

There's silence for a long beat. "Last year," Louis mutters, still not making eye contact.

"Oh, Louis," Harry pouts.

"Shut your dirty trap and get dressed. I'll tell you more about my dreadful past later." Louis rolls his eyes then leaves the room, flopping right onto the sofa again.

Harry stands still as he feels the energy of the area being sucked out behind Louis. It's like he can fill up an entire room by himself with his personality and essence. How it's possible, Harry doesn't know. All he's sure of is that Louis is a magical creature and Harry will definitely take him up on that offer to learn more about his past.

Once he's dressed, Harry pads to the den, sitting down right beside Louis. Apparently he's given up at whatever design he was valiantly working on, seeing as he now sits slumped into the cushions with his feet on the coffee table and his phone held upright on his chest. Harry looks at him in silence, patiently waiting for Louis to start a conversation. When he doesn't after about two minutes, Harry take the matter into his own hands.

"I want to know about you," he says. Smooth, Styles, really smooth.

Louis side eyes him, chin smushed into his clavicle. "No you don't."

"Yes I do," Harry insists.

"What could you _possibly_ want to know?" Louis asks, twisting his neck to face Harry.

There are tons of things he would love to know. _I want to know everything,_ Harry wants to blurt out. But, reasonably thinking, he needs to decide what facts are more important than others. Birthday? Favorite music? Dreams and aspirations? Interest in him?

"I don't know. Stuff." Harry shrugs. "What about your birthday, will you tell me that much?"

Louis hums as he turns back to his phone screen. He scrolls a few times, holding the decisive note before sighing and muttering, "December 24th."

"You're-"

"A Christmas miracle, yes, I've been told," Louis interrupts with a slight grin. He pushes himself up with his elbows into a more decent slouching pose. It's enough for him to seem interested in the conversation. "Funny thing– I grew up thinking the lights were all for my birthday. Honestly, deep down I still believe it."

"Aw, little Louis thinks he's special," Harry coos happily. Louis scowls at him and Harry laughs. "I'm a February miracle. First day of the month."

"I don't think you deserve that title. Nothing special happens in February," Louis reasons.

"Valentine's Day," Harry says.

Louis just stares. "As I said, nothing special."

Harry raises his hands in defense and leans back into the sofa, considering a topic change before Louis beats him to pieces. "How old are you?" 

"Twenty three."

"Twenty one here," Harry sighs.

"Why are you sighing about that? You're not almost halfway to thirty," Louis whines, falling to his side dramatically.

Harry nudges his bottom with his foot and Louis smacks him away, placing a hand to protectively cover his goods.

"Technically you're halfway to thirty when you turn fifteen, not twenty five," Harry explains, playfully tapping his toe against the back of Louis' hand.

Louis groans loudly, " _Harry_ , you're _terrible_."

"Feel free to kick me out," Harry challenges with ease. It'd be no problem really. It's happened before once when some girl offered her sofa then wanted to hook up. Harry politely declined her and then narrowly missed the bottle thrown at his head.

"No. I couldn't do that because I do still like having life here. But if you're going to be smart and inquisitive, I'm gonna need a drink." Louis rights himself and claps his hands once before standing up. He looks at Harry. "Do you want one?"

Harry grimaces and shakes his head. Louis smirks and Harry doesn't understand why his response is so funny to him. Maybe drinking beer is in Louis' Manliness Standards. Well then fuck him and his stupid misogynistic-

"I already know you don't like beer, you idiot. Do you want a strawberry or kiwi wine cooler?" Ah, yes. Unfuck him. He knows Harry well.

"Strawberry please," Harry smiles sweetly, close-eyed and dimpled. As Louis walks over his foot, he pats Harry on the cheek in a fond gesture. It makes Harry's skin tingle.

In an ideal world, Louis grabs the drinks, throws Harry his, then they sit on the sofa and go back to boring conversation about their interests. They share some laughs, get a little fuzzy in the head, then hopefully go to sleep better acquaintances than before. As it goes, Louis grabs the drinks, hands Harry his pink bottle, then holds a hand out. Harry looks at it, feeble and inviting, unsure of what to do. He looks to Louis' eyes for a hint only to suddenly be yanked up from his spot by a strong tug on his wrist.

He stumbles to his feet, holding onto Louis' shoulders to steady himself. "You're fucking strong."

"Thank you, wanking must pay off," Louis smirks. Harry, on the other hand, chokes, but quickly redeems himself before Louis can notice. "We're going to sit outside because it's boring in here and Zayn texted me that the stars are out for the first time in, like, seven years." Louis leads the way to the larger window with a matching large latch in the center of it. 

He lifts the glass up easily and climbs out with much more grace than Harry follows with. It's not his fault he has long limbs and crooked feet. Louis laughs anyways and mocks him even after Harry explains his natural difficulties. 

Surprisingly, the fire escape is much nicer than Harry expected. Normally they're crammed between two ugly buildings or face some shady street, but Louis' looks out at a park. There are lampposts and a trail and trees in full bloom for the summer. To top it off, Louis has white fairy lights weaved through the metal railing, which seems odd for his personality but fits with the flowers he was doodling earlier.

"This is.. nice," Harry says, gripping the cold rail and looking out at the view.

Louis comes up beside him, close enough for their shoulders to touch. "I like it out here. It's kind of like my sanctuary."

"Do people ever walk up or down the steps?" Harry asks, referring to the fire escape staircase that's built to be used in an actual emergency.

"Nah. I stopped my frequent jogs up and down the fire escape a few months ago," Louis says sarcastically. "I mean, Zayn got high once and tried to climb up and sneak into my upstairs neighbor's flat, but other than that, I've never seen anyone use them."

"Alright then," Harry laughs and Louis shrugs, mouth twisted in an attempt to hold back a smile.

Out here the world seems so much nicer. Looking down upon the places Harry usually sleeps on is an out-of-body experience. Everything seems serene, nice, and peaceful apart from the distant cars zooming around. It's such a false advertisement of what this city is and only people like Harry can see the true colors because only they have been forced to look beyond its bright lights.

Harry pops open his can and takes a swig as Louis tilts his head toward the sky. His neck is long and his skin is purple from the cool light outside. Harry eyes him hungrily, thinking about how he'd like to lick a long stripe from his collarbone to his jaw. The thought mixes well with the sweetness in his mouth, serving to make him wonder more about whether he would leave a light pink trail behind due to his stained tongue.

No. None of those thoughts. He shakes his damp hair out and looks where Louis has his gaze set.

"I wish I knew what the fuck all of those stars are, like what they're called and why," Louis breathes out. He sounds truly aggravated that it's not possible to know each and every backstory to them.

"It is kind of sad though, innit?" Harry asks. "There are probably trillions of stars out there, but we only know the names of a few thousand at max. Imagine being one small star in a cluster of brighter ones; you would never get noticed, even though you're made the same as them."

"Sounds like you, mate," Louis says gently, sipping some beer as he glances over at Harry. 

Harry lowers his gaze to the empty park and nods his head. He takes a deep breath in, then let's it out slowly. "Don't remind me."

Reality hit Harry a long while ago. He's accepted the fact that there are thousands of musicians trying to get their big breaks and he's just a lost soul in the midst of them. Apart from his hair and constant humorous need for a bed, Harry is nothing special. _He_ knows his songs are much different than anyone else's, but as far as blind strangers know, if the tempo and instrument are the same, the songs are twins. So yes, he's known this for some time now, but repeatedly being reminded of it never numbs the sting.

"Hey, I didn't mean that to bring things up or be, like, degrading. I was just trying to connect," Louis says, moving his hand back and forth between them. "Sorry. What I mean to say is that you're the smaller of the bunch, sure, but you're still the brightest fucking star out there. Don't let dumb knobs like me make you think otherwise," he smiles.

Harry catches his eyes and notes that they're as big and sincere as ever. Louis' eyes are truly the gateways to his soul. With just one look, you can feel everything he's thinking and see the raw meanings behind his words. As this has happened a few times before, Harry can pick out a handful of emotions now, but the rest that swirl in the blue irises are mysteries yet to be uncovered.

"Thank you, that means a lot," he says earnestly. "And if the knobs look the same as you, they can tell me whatever they want and I'll believe them in a heartbeat," Harry teases. 

The 'avoiding pretty boys for his own good' rule is doing no good, so Harry tosses it to the wind. He's pressed the pedal down and gone straight for trying to flirt without knowing exactly how Louis will take it. Luckily, Louis grabs the railing tighter and rocks back and forth on his heels, the liquid sloshing around in his bottle as the metal barrier starts creaking.

"You're a charmer, isn't that wonderful. Just keep it up because Calvin is still pretty decent looking, and just as well in bed.." Louis sighs dreamily, fluttering his lashes at Harry. "I'm sure he'd _love_ to lie to his girlfriend again and camp out on my sofa if you were to stop complimenting me like that."

Harry huffs. "You would never ditch a star for him, even if the said star stopped boosting your ego. I can see through your little facade."

Louis raises a hand in surrender. "You've got me. You win. Now help me find constellations before I do something I'll regret."

Harry ponders over that last offhand comment for a moment. By saying that, would it be more reasonable to assume Louis meant physical abuse or something more..sensual? What does it matter. Harry would be honored in the event of either.

They spend the rest of the night on the fire escape tracing patterns in the stars with their fingertips. They look charts up on their phones and have competitions to find them the fastest, covering each other's eyes and cackling as they attempt to cheat their way to victory. In Harry's defense, he only resorted to such methods after Louis did it twice. He's a bit of a competitive menace.

In all honesty though, it almost feels like a date. Almost. It's odd. There's no romance involved and no fancy food or small talk, just stars and silver skin and alcohol. Since they've only been 'friends' for two days, it's almost like a bonding experience, but then again it feels like more than that– Christ, Harry doesn't know. Is star gazing a platonic activity? Does Louis cuddling under his arm to see the sky better count as bonding? Is there a word for performing an activity with a near stranger that's basically a big excuse to test the waters of a flirtatious friendship?

Harry's head hurts. All he knows is that Louis keeps stealing sips of his strawberry wine cooler and it becomes increasingly difficult to focus on the sky rather than Louis' red tinted lips. It's obvious that Louis is under his skin already, seeping into his mind and filling up all the empty spots where Harry's refused to hold a school boy crush before. Whatever the hell is beginning this night on this glowing fire escape, he's sure he can get on board with it.

 

☾

 

The next time Harry has a gig, weeks after their first meeting, it's a proper paid show and Louis promises he's going to bring the lads out to see him. Harry insists that it's fine, he doesn't need an audience, but Louis is persistent as ever. He invites Zayn, Liam, and two new people. Louis tells him the name of one, Niall, but grins as he explains that the other is a surprise.

"Just fucking tell me who it is," Harry groans as he throws his guitar in the back seat of Louis' car. 

"Never," Louis singsongs, twirling the key ring around his finger.

Harry hops in the front seat and buckles himself in. "You didn't hire an assassin did you?"

"For future reference, I wouldn't put that past myself, but this time, no. He's just a cool guy and I want him to see you," Louis explains as he pulls out onto the main road, en route to the popular bar.

"Is it a producer? Someone who owns a record label?" Harry inquires hopefully.

Louis sighs and licks his lips. "Not.. exactly." The drum of Harry's heart picks up tempo when Louis looks at him with intimidating eyes. "Stop asking or you'll ruin it. I'm terrible at holding in surprises."

So Harry nods and manages to shut up for the rest of the ride. When they pull up, Harry looks out and sees a printed poster with a picture of him on it taped to the front of the building. He smiles and feels a sense of pride, duly thinking about how most music artists haven't even gotten this far. It may not be much, but he'll settle. Getting paid to do what he loves is his main goal, and tonight he's doing just that. What is there to complain about?

Louis parks and they hop out of the car, Harry swinging his guitar happily as they walk. Once inside, Louis rattles on about how he's never been to this place and it seems oh so cool and interesting, maybe he'll come back some day. It goes until he stops at a wraparound booth littered with drink bottles already. 

On the bench sit the familiar faces of Zayn and Liam and a blonde that must be Niall because beside him is-

"Ed, mate, how are ya!" Louis calls out happily, leaning over the table to fist bump the singer Harry's only seen in magazines and on stage.

"I'm really good. The lads are cool tonight," Ed fucking Sheeran smiles.

"Don't flatter them or they'll expect a song or something," Louis replies. He suddenly seems to remember that Harry is standing beside him in stunned silence. An arm hooks around Harry's neck as Louis says, "Oh, this is Harry! He's the upcoming popstar we're all here for and I almost forgot to bloody introduce him."

"Hey mate, I'm Niall," the blonde says, grinning bright and wide, an Irish accent prominent.

"Nice to see Louis hasn't killed you yet," Zayn jokes, raising his bottle in greeting. Louis retaliates with a strong choice of curse words.

"Yeah, luckily I caught him putting pot noodles in the microwave without any water before he could burn his building down," Harry laughs.

"Are you really mocking my cooking skills rather than pissing yourself over Ed? After how long you pestered me about spilling the surprise?" Louis interrupts incredulously. 

"I was _getting_ there, calm down," Harry replies. He looks over at the ginger now and promptly loses his thoughts.

Ed leaves no space for awkwardness though. "I'm guessing you've heard a song or two, yeah?" He smiles at Harry knowingly and all Harry can do is nervously laugh and nod his head.

"Of course, I mean who hasn't? They're incredible. I'm a, uh, big fan. Not that I'm going to act like one though, because obviously you're just a normal bloke and everything," Harry babbles as Louis starts tittering beside him. "Shit, I need to shut up, don't I?"

They all nod with annoying grins and Harry pulls his lips into his mouth. He figured as much. 

"I actually need to go on stage now anyways, so I'll talk to you all later," Harry says, gesturing his thumb towards the corner of the bar taken up by a wooden platform and some lights.

"Good luck," Liam says, eyes soft and reassuring. 

"Thanks, mate," Harry replies, feeling somewhat more confident knowing that if all else fails, he's at least got one solid group of people to shield him from the sorrow of failure.

He leaves the booth and drags his guitar case to his designated spot for the next hour. On the stage sits a single stool and a microphone stand, the background littered with a shoddy drum kit and some speakers tangled in a web of wires. It's not the most extravagant set up, but it's not any more than Harry was expecting. At least the lighting is interesting. They've chosen purple and blue bulbs over the classic stark white or yellow. Hopefully Harry's white shirt doesn't clash with them or anything, ha ha. Oh, how sad it is that he's soothing his few nerves with some terrible attempts at humor.

A man who works for the place comes up to him to make sure the equipment is all working right, and once they've got the sound sorted out, it's time to start the performance. Harry introduces himself with a smile, ducking his head at the whistles he gets from somewhere in the room. The first song he introduces is _Back to New._

See, a few years ago, Harry dated a guy named Jack. They started seeing each other during Jack's last year of school, Harry having been a year behind. It slowly started stirring in the spring and got more serious as the year's end came on. During the long summer months arose a handful of Harry's firsts. His first time getting wasted, his first blow job, his first time being fucked. It was a special time and seemed to be never ending.

Then, Jack sat Harry down and explained that he was going to London for university. It seemed insane that someone from such a small town was actually going somewhere so grand, and Harry didn't believe him for a moment. But as the conversation faded into _It's not you_ 's and _these past few months have been incredible_ , it sank in. Everything they had was coming to an end.

It took a while to get over Jack, sure, but by the time Harry graduated and travelled to the city himself, the love seemed long gone. In a twisting turn of events and intertwined paths, they met again and attempted to restart their relationship. It was more fast-paced and Jack seemed to be a completely different person than he had been a year prior. It was then that Harry wrote the song about being the same for so long then leaving, and after trying to start again, realizing that it's something completely new.

When he tells a brief back story of the song on stage, Harry shortens it down to that last sentence. It makes it easier for the audience and causes less pain in Harry's chest, the rough details of their final split still salt on the wounds.

After a while, a decent percentage of the crowd at the bar stops paying close attention to Harry. Their original fascination is replaced by their desire for drinks or attention which is understandable. Harry wouldn't want to watch himself for so long either. If anything, rather than being upset, Harry is grateful to have some careful eyes off of him. It gives him a chance to slouch his straightened spine and flip the fallen tufts of hair from his face in an uncareful manner.

Being on stage without a proper audience would be a nightmare for some musicians, but never for Harry. The smell of alcohol and the blurred view of everything due to the lights pouring down are intoxicating together. Listening to his voice and strums echo throughout the crowded room soothes something in his soul as would a thousand cheering voices in an arena.

Eventually Harry's set comes to a close. He says his final goodbye and immediately mentions that some CDs will be for sale if anyone's interested. As soon as the lights dim and he steps down from the stage, a group of people come up to him asking how much the discs are, if he's got an iTunes, if he's got any more gigs in the area. For each question he gives a solid answer and a smile, making sure to be as cool and happy as possible in order to trick people into thinking better of him and his music. Not that he's a bad person in the first place, but. It's a tactic he's found to work after watching some petty dicks fade to black after one rough night of audience interactions.

After trading off some CDs from his case and collecting the heavy stack of bills, Harry heads back over to the booth where the lads - his friends? is Ed Sheeran his friend too? - are all sitting. As soon as Harry steps within a ten foot proximity, Louis starts whooping and clapping, causing a chain reaction from the entire table.

"You were bloody incredible, Harry! I told you you're a star!" Louis exclaims with a bright smile, eyes scrunched from the force of it.

"Yeah, you were sick!" Niall throws in with a look of awe. "When Louis told me about you I was iffy, but you showed those thoughts up. That was proper entertainment right there!"

"Thanks, I'm glad," Harry returns happily. Hopefully his cheeks aren't red now. Not that it matters much when they all seem to be a tad bit drunk.

The seating order has slightly changed since Harry went to perform. The order starting from the right end of the booth goes Liam, Zayn, Louis, Niall, then Ed, leaving Harry with no choice but to sit in the empty spot next to the famous singer. He locks his gaze on Louis, casually eyeing the way he's leaning into Zayn's side and whispering into his hair. Zayn turns his head to laugh and when their faces are only an inch apart, Harry forces himself to look away. There's a reasonable explanation for the flames in his chest, but Harry would never admit to it. He could never admit to letting such a useless feeling consume him.

"Hey, your music is seriously incredible," a voice says, shocking Harry from his thoughts. It's Ed and when Harry looks over, he notes the ginger is properly enjoying himself, cheeks flushed and hair scattered in a lazy manner. 

Needless to say, it takes a minute before Harry processes what's happening.

"Wait, you– really? You liked it?" Harry asks in surprise. 

"Of course. It's fucking brilliant, I'm telling you. And it's like an out-of-body experience watching you because you remind me so much of myself. Then again, I try to say every small time musician trying to make it big is following in my footsteps," Ed laughs, leaning back into the seat. 

Did Ed Sheeran actually compare Harry to him though? Is that a thing that really just happened? He should probably stop referring to him as Ed Sheeran now. They're past dumb formalities.

"I'm really glad you like my stuff, and being compared to you is cool too. You may not be talking about my sound or anything, but even being considered similar to such an incredible musician is insane," Harry tries to explain. 

"You make me sound cocky, like I refer to myself as an _incredible musician_ ," Ed laughs again, dramatically saying the last words. "Now that you say that though, your lyrics _are_ pretty good.." He says it slowly like he's pondering something. "I think we should get together sometime in the studio, write a bit up and see what happens. Our sounds would flow good, don't you think?"

Damn them all to hell if Harry doesn't think that. "No, yeah, of course, that'd be great. Your lyrics are like.. I don't even know. You inspire me sometimes when I write so actually working with you would be incredible."

"All of this flattery is making me sick," Ed says, sighing. He's still grinning though, so Harry hopes he's not done something wrong. "You're a good man though, Harry Styles. Louis has some knack for finding the good ones." 

As if there's a better compliment in the world. It's funny that Harry finds such satisfaction in being commended by Ed, and finds more in the way Ed mentions Louis' name too. For some reason, being associated with Louis has become something Harry cherishes and gets excited about even when it's brought up during a conversation with someone whose name is spoken more times in a day than Harry's has ever been. It's scary, yet intriguing at the same time.

"How exactly do you even know Louis?" Harry can't help but ask as his curiosity gets the better of him.

"Basically, he went to one of my really early gigs then came up to me and said I was pretty good and all that shit. Then he brought up that he was a struggling artist and was wondering if we could work together somehow and I said hell yeah," Ed recalls with a smile. "He drew up some handmade posters and even did some cover art for an EP that I never released. Cool lad from the start."

Hearing this makes Harry feel like real connections are forming now. Private stories are being shared, banter being exchanged, both with Ed and Louis. Next he'll crash into Zayn's life and Liam's and hopefully Niall's too because Harry is willing to make as many friends here as possible.

"So you guys go way back then," Harry says and Ed nods. 

Their conversation ends abruptly as Louis hollers, "Harry, talk to me! Stop giving Eddy all the attention!"

"Let the boy make friends," Liam rebukes and Harry wants to say _yeah, Louis, listen to him. Let me make friends._

"Why are you whining for attention when I've only said three words to him?" Niall challenges Louis.

Louis frowns and crosses his arms. "Liam's only said like five, you aren't special."

"That just means you're _especially_ not special," Zayn throws in smartly, wrapping an arm around Louis' shoulders. Louis huffs in response.

"Lou, you get me the rest of the night. You have to share me, alright?" Harry tells him in a light, teasing tone. 

Louis' blue eyes meet his and suddenly all petulance is lost, replaced by the wild, carefree glint that regularly resides in his irises. He wraps a hand around his sweating glass of whatever and gulps some down. When he lowers it, he waves a hand in an outward motion. "Associate away."

And that Harry does. As the night drags on, he makes sure to have at least one lengthy conversation with everyone at the table, even Louis because his subtle pouts are obvious under Harry's careful eye. Harry learns some interesting things about each of them. For example, Zayn likes to do street art and practices in his home; Liam is the promotions director for BBC Radio 1; and Niall is a music producer that got fired once for cursing at an artist for not singing loud enough.

In return, Harry trades useless facts about himself that are too boring to even name off. One thing he discovers during his time at the bar is that he's a very uninteresting person. He may have his fair share of wild stories and sights, but other than those, his life is a bit common. One day he hopes it becomes much more exciting and maybe this night is the start of it all, the beginning of a new era for Harry Styles.

By the time they start to head out, Harry is the only one of them that isn't utterly wasted. Well, to be honest, only Louis is wasted, but since he's the only one Harry is leaving with and therefore the only one that matters, he disregards everyone else.

"Good luck with that," Ed says with a mindful eye, patting Harry on the back before he walks away, the squeak of his sneakers lost a few steps later.

Zayn and Liam both perform similar actions, telling Harry to keep an eye on Louis and make sure he keeps his clothes on. Harry, though slightly confused, promises to do so and then the boys head off with Niall laughing in tow behind them. Once they're all gone, it's just him and Louis. Harry stands up and presses his palms into his lower back, jutting his hips forward in a stretch. Louis stumbles out of the booth and immediately grabs Harry's hand. It shocks Harry's nerves before he realizes that Louis is only holding him so he can be led out without falling on his face. Of course it means nothing more. 

"You're going to regret all of that in the morning," Harry tells him as he reaches below the table to pick up his resting guitar.

Louis swings their hands back and forth in a joyful rhythm. "I'm immune to hangovers, Hazza. Didn't you catch that a few days ago?"

Harry remembers it now, yes. The day Louis dropped the kettle on his toe and climbed on Harry for an unneeded diagnosis. "Of course, how could I ever forget."

He starts walking towards the door they arrived through some hours ago, his arm still being yanked back and forth by Louis' strong grip. The door opens with a creak and then they're hit with the cool air of an English summer night, not cold enough to cause shivers but not warm enough for sweat. It's comfortable, if only a bit stuffy, but overall, the quietness of this part of town is wonderful.

"Zayn had a girlfriend named Perrie once. We all called her Pezza," Louis giggles giddily as they continue down the pavement, getting closer to the car. "Do you know her?"

"No, why would I know her?" Harry looks at Louis. His blue eyes are untrained on anything specific, simply dotting around from tree to car to sky, finding wonder in everything around them.

Through the ridiculous smile on his face, Louis says, "She's Pezza and you're Hazza! Don't you– do you really not know her?" Suddenly Louis' lips drop to a frown, eyes welling up with worry as he looks straight at Harry.

"Christ, no, I don't know Perrie, now will you get in the passenger seat," Harry sighs, shaking his hand from Louis' hold.

The answer seems suffice enough. Louis returns back to his normal state of drunkenness and tugs on the door handle. It snaps back when he does so and Louis gasps, whipping around to alert Harry of his problem. Harry already knows it's locked though, seeing as he just had the same trouble, so he cuts Louis off before any high pitched whining can spill out.

"Do you have the keys?"

Louis shuts his mouth and cocks his head, narrowing his eyes at something in the distance as he thinks. The way a grin spreads onto his face makes Harry fear what he's about to have to deal with.

"I might," Louis says, leisurely leaning back against the car door and crossing his arms. He tilts his head down and catches Harry's eye through thick lashes, looking incredibly seductive yet worryingly dangerous. "They're in one of my pockets, but I can't check which one because my hands seem to be stuck to my arms." He proves the fact by wiggling his crossed arms around. "I guess you'll just have to pat me down to find them," he finishes with a devilish grin.

Harry gulps. "Louis, I'm not playing games with you. Just hand me the keys so we can go back to your place and sleep."

"This isn't a game, Harry, my hands are fucking _stuck_ to my _biceps._ Our fate relies in your fingers and my jeans," he shrugs as if he's not forcing Harry to feel parts of him that Harry can only fantasize about in the safety of a shower.

They lock eyes and stand in silence for a moment, Louis smirking and Harry clenching his jaw. He gives in soon enough and walks closer to Louis, shaking his head as he does so.

"You're a nuisance," Harry groans.

"Mhm," Louis nods, full of glee.

Harry shuts his mind off when he reaches out to pat Louis' front pockets. It's dark outside and Louis is wearing black jeans, so it's a blind shot as he feels for the hard key. Louis snorts at some point and Harry quickly pulls his hand back, knowing exactly what he must've touched. They're so close and the air between them is bouncing with hyperactivity. With Louis completely submissive beneath him, Harry feels a surge of desire to take advantage of that and either press their bodies together or their lips. Maybe even both.

But instead he breathes long and deep and steps back, licking his lips subconsciously. Louis' eyes are glossy but not lost in reality as he drops his arms and pushes off the car. Harry stands perfectly still as Louis creeps closer, filling the gap Harry just made. Each step he takes aligns with the thumping of Harry's heart, floating light in his chest. 

"The key is in my back pocket," Louis says quietly once his sneaker is almost pressed against the toe of Harry's boot.

"Can't you get it yourself now since your hands are free?" 

Louis bows his head and laughs, and when he looks back up, his hair has fallen over his eyes and his bottom lip is tugged into his mouth. He releases it just to say, "Nope."

That's an invitation if Harry has ever heard one. He reaches around Louis and pats his back pockets, two layers above his glorious bum. Harry feels the odd shape of the key on the right side and shoves his hand in the pocket, both of them threatening to start laughing or moaning as he does so. He draws the key from it's hiding spot and clasps it in his fist. For some reason, Harry can't will himself to back away.

He gently lay his hand on Louis' tailbone, drawing him in ever so slightly. The humid air around them is starting to become suffocating. There's too much heat, too much desire building in too small of a space. Everything is too. Each time Harry lets hot air out, Louis breathes it in. That's how close they are. 

Louis stands on his toes and has to cross his eyes to to catch Harry's gaze. "Do it already," Louis whispers through a sharp smile and that's the push that has Harry freefalling over the edge.

He ducks his head down and meets Louis' parted lips with his own, carefree and tender all the same. Louis' lips fall straight in line with Harry's, his grin evaporating to become a loose pucker that's easier to work with. As Harry holds Louis firmly against him, he swears he feels sparks. It's like every sappy love song and romantic movie come to life in a blur of heated frenzy and schoolboy giddiness.

Warmth spreads from Harry's heart to his toes and cheeks, his entire body tingling with this wonderful sensation. The feeling in Harry's chest when Louis' spit-slick lips focus around his plump bottom lip is comparable to bathing in a tub full of liquid gold. It's empowering, fascinating, and makes him feel on top of the world.

It's genuinely difficult to believe that they've only known each other for about two weeks. You could play it off to the fact that Louis is drunk and gets too comfortable with everyone, but Harry prefers to think that his pining for Louis is reciprocated. Honestly. how could he think anything other than that in the situation he's in right now?

The kiss doesn't last long enough. Once they pull back, Louis casually lowers himself back to his flat foot stance and smiles proudly. "I knew you wanted me."

Harry is shocked. Of all the romantic, time twisting, mind bending, heart stopping things Louis could've said right there, he goes straight for a teasing jab at Harry. Well then. He'll have to work hard to make that quote fit smoothly into a new song.

"Don't act like you weren't begging for it," Harry counters with a knowing look. 

Louis huffs before mumbling, "And to think I wanted to properly make out with you when we got home.."

It's not a direct confirmation and he probably won't remember what he's said by the morning, but it sets Harry's stomach a flutter. Needless to say, it takes Harry all of three seconds to get his guitar, Louis, and himself thrown in the car before he floors it the rest of the way to the flat.

 

☾

 

Mirrors have never been friends of Harry. They display him in his rawest, truest form, the way that everyone in the real world sees him. They give cruel reminders that his life isn't some fantasy and set him back into place when he starts to feel too almighty.

Right now though, as he stands with a bare torso in Louis' bathroom, the mirror only reflects good. In the faded glass he notices the way his hair hangs in healthy curls, how his eyes are starting to regain their liveliness. Most of all, he can clearly see two large love bites on his pale body– there's one healing mark on the side of his neck and a new bruising bite nestled on top of his left collarbone. They're art on his skin. Blotches of red and purple surround them, creating a beautiful contrast that also serves to signify the contrast between he and Louis as individuals.

Over the past few days they've fallen into what could be considered an unprecedented friends with benefits relationship. At least that's what Louis keeps saying. Friends this, friends that. It's only a little disappointing and a smidge more confusing. There are obviously some kind of feelings involved based on the sickeningly sweet things they constantly whisper to each other, but there hasn't been a serious talk about them yet and there sadly hasn't been any action past some awkward boners when a make out session got too frantic.

With the problems that arise with the relationship also come the aforementioned benefits. Not that it's truly a benefit to anyone other than Harry, but since the night of their first kiss, he's been shown the true form of Louis' powerful being. The night outside the bar was all just a decoy, a rare tease, a glimpse of a reality that doesn't exist. While Louis had been pliant and willing to let Harry do all the work that night, he's proven that he's not one to be taken advantage of ever since. Each time they kiss, Louis doesn't allow Harry to cradle his face— No, he has to be the only one with his hands tangled in Harry's hair, somehow pulling their faces impossibly close together. When they're both in need of a proper snog, Louis is always the one pinning Harry down to the sofa, never allowing their positions to be flipped.

In all, he's quite the dominant animal in whatever thing they have going. Not that Harry's complaining. While some people would be turned off by someone smaller than them bossing them around, Harry is more than fine with Louis treating him like a rag doll. If Louis wanted Harry to straighten his hair for better gripping capabilities, he would in a heartbeat. Anything to keep Louis' lips locked between his own and Louis' crotch grinding down onto his neglected cock when Harry is feeling particularly desperate.

Harry stretches his arms above his head and turns from the mirror. He woke up at nine and went to busk for a solid four hours and it's worn him out. The money was worth it though. In total, counting tips and discs sold, he collected nearly two hundred pounds which is high enough to label today one of his top ten days to date.

He moves to the shower and cleans himself, humming happy tunes and shaking his hips as he lathers his body with foamy soap. Times of being a kid flood his memories and Harry smiles with his eyes shut, focusing on them. Growing up he would always sing in the shower, so much that his sister, Gemma, recorded him occasionally to use as blackmail. For a while he got upset but eventually he realized that his true passion was to be a singer someday so he may as well let her get some rare tapes while she can. After that, she seemed to lose interest, only furthering Harry's expeditions into the realm of bathtub performances.

He hops out and into a new pair of clothes feeling fresh and awake. Over the weekend he got more CDs made and, more importantly, went to a thrift shop and picked up about two garbage bags full of clothing. Since Louis doesn't seem to be kicking him out anytime soon, he figured it'd be alright to live off of more than three shirts and two trousers, not to mention the slim selection of pants.

When Harry walks out into the living room, Louis isn't sitting in his normal place. The telly is on, playing some reality show Harry can't name. Light pours into the room highlighting each scattered painting and making the small space seem larger as the brightness increases. Using the light as a clue, Harry peers out the opened window and finds Louis sitting on the fire escape. His back is pressed against the railing and his knees are bent, thighs splayed wide open in a seemingly comfortable position.

Harry saunters over to the window and climbs through it without falling, having mastered the art of it now. When he looks down, Louis is squinting up at him.

"Welcome back, Tarzan," Louis says, a cigarette delicately placed between two fingers beside his face. "Nice love bites. Did you get 'em from Jane?"

"Yeah. Who knew she was such a _saucy_ lady?" Harry replies easily, adjusting his blouse that's unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

Louis grins and instead of replying, he pats the spot next to him. Harry obliges and drops himself to the floor, kicking his legs out long and scooting until their shoulders touch. The smell of smoke lingers thick down here but it's not too bad. It's mixed with Louis' Tom Ford cologne and cinnamon scented hair.

"Niall asked if we want to play football with him, Liam, and Zayn," Louis says. 

"We? They asked me to come too?" Harry questions, not quite believing that he's been accepted into their little clique so quickly.

Louis takes a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke away from Harry before turning back. "Obviously. They know I would beat them up if they didn't invite you, and I mean, I'd have dragged you along anyways," he smiles with an elbow nudge to Harry's side. 

Harry makes a face. It's the worried, uncertain one where his eyebrows draw together and his lips flatten out. "I'm a bit shit at the game. Like, there are bad players, then there's terrible players, and even some hopeless ones, and _then_ there's me."

"Oh come _on_ , you can't be that bloody terrible. Every Englishman has got some bit of football skills in him somewhere," Louis assures him with a bored look.

"Do you not see these?" Harry raises a leg up and Louis takes a long look at it. "I try to kick the ball once and they tangle together like a headphone cord."

Louis laughs obnoxiously and loud– two signs of pure genuity. Harry shifts position to face him better and catches sight of his open smile, his teeth appearing like fangs on his feline face.

"That was a good comparison. You lyricists are just _so_ clever," Louis sighs, breathing out more smoke.

"Can I make another one then?"

Louis flicks his wrist in a 'proceed' motion. "Have at it."

"You look like a dragon right now," Harry says. Louis' eyes instantly brighten with amusement. "The way the smoke comes from your nose after you take a drag and how your teeth are so sharp when you laugh— you fit perfect."

"I'll take that. It makes me sound cool and powerful, and I'm all about that life," Louis nods.

"You're already both of those things anyways," Harry admits bravely.

Louis shifts and grinds his cigarette butt into the blue glass ashtray sitting beside him. He smirks and cross his arms.

"Am I powerful enough to coax you into going to the park with me and the lads?" 

Harry ignores the way Louis brushes away the compliments and considers the offer again. On one hand he truly is complete shit at football and there's a very likely chance that he'll twist or pull some part of his body. On the other, he's got nothing to do for the rest of the day and with Louis gone, he may fall into a depression caused by the deprivation of a beautiful sight and lazy kisses. Getting to know Louis' friends would be a plus too of course. It's just that physical attention is much more important, especially when it's coming from someone as magnificent as Louis Tomlinson (which Harry's finally learned his last name is).

"Do you have shoes I can borrow?" Harry asks, eyeing Louis' small feet.

There's a satisfied glint in Louis' baby blues as he says, "I think you may be in luck."

 

☾

 

Turns out Harry's not quite as horrendous at the game as he made himself out to be. Louis managed to drag out an old pair of sneakers his mum got him for Christmas one year when Louis lied about having a miraculous growth spurt. Harry replaced his comfortable sweater for a loose tank top and they raced their way downstairs and out to the park a short walk away. Upon arrival, all the other boys had already been waiting for them, kicking a neon yellow ball in a circle and bouncing it on their knees in ways Harry could only be entranced by. As soon as they got close, Louis ran up and stole the ball from Liam in mid-bounce, kicking it up and catching it under his arm. That's when Harry knew things were about to get serious.

They split off into two teams: Louis, Harry, and Niall versus Zayn and Liam. It was explained to him that since Louis and Niall are the best players, they should be on Harry's team so he gets some sort of advantage. He had no qualms about such an order and soon enough they had launched into a proper game.

Using two trees and a park bench as impromptu goals, Harry's team (The Dream Team, as Louis called them) flew between the two ends, sending the ball soaring to score multiple times. It was mostly Louis scoring because admittedly, he was a bit of a ball hog. Harry didn't mind, but Niall told him off after half an hour of playing, so Louis reluctantly backed off, allowing the two neglected team members to get a single goal each. 

At the end of the hour long match, the points total five for The Dream Team and three for Zayn and Liam. Louis whoops and hollers then gloriously yells, "Catch me!" before falling backwards into the plush green grass. Zayn kicks him lightly in the side and the brunette just starts laughing like a maniac, rolling around in all of the imaginary confetti.

"Get up you absolute prat," Zayn groans.

Louis sighs then sticks out his hand. "Lend me a hand then, would you, Zaynie?"

Zayn obliges and lowers his hand towards Louis'. Instead of latching them together though, Louis bends his elbow in and slowly maneuvers his flat palm into the bird, aiming it straight at Zayn with a mischievous smile.

"I'm too tired to beat him up, someone else do it for me," Zayn groans, looking around at them.

When neither Liam or Niall make moves to do anything about the man on the ground, Harry takes matters into his own hands. He stands behind Louis' head then bends down, gripping under his armpits. Harry heaves Louis up like a rag doll and dusts the back of his sweaty shirt off once he's standing properly again. Next, Louis performs an unexpected spin. Harry sees him one moment then he's gone the next, a blur behind Harry's closed eyelids when he presses their lips together in what must be a victory kiss. Harry's seen things like this in movies, but he never imagine he'd ever become a real life trophy wife. Oh how much can change in such a short amount of time.

"Fuck off, you two are already together?" Niall says disapprovingly.

Harry smiles into Louis' soft lips, thoroughly enjoying the rush he gets with every breath Louis tries to grab in the spaces between their kisses. 

"Niall, you owe me a tenner," Liam says.

Louis turns his head to call out, "we're not together," causing Harry, who's not paying attention, to dive back in for a wet peck to Louis' scruffy cheek. His eyes fly open and he uses it as an excuse to take a small step back. 

"Oi, now you owe _me_ some cash," Niall grins, hopping over, latching his arm around Liam's shoulders.

Harry adjusts his bun as he watches Liam's eyebrows knit in bewilderment. "No I don't?"

"Technicalities," Niall sings with a smile.

Louis raises an arm to wipe his sweaty face on his covered bicep, taking two steps back until he's standing right beside Harry again. It's like there's a magnetic field surrounding them that could draw them together no matter if they're feet apart or thousands of miles. Heat radiates off Louis and settles deep in Harry's gut. Or maybe it's just feelings stirring around down there.. If that's the case, Harry's even more driven to stick with the first story.

"Me and Harry here are just friends with some wonderful benefits," Louis smiles, toothy and wide.

"What, you don't want to date him then end up with a hit single written about how bad you were in bed?" Zayn asks, receiving huffed laughter from the two boys beside him.

Louis scoffs. "Funny." And is he.. actually offended? Surely Louis isn't someone to be insecure about his thrusting skills. 

"Can I just say I appreciate your belief that I could ever make a hit song," Harry throws in, saving the conversation. 

"Any song you have now could be loved worldwide. Honestly, as soon as you break into a larger fan base, you're going places, no break up ballads required," Zayn assures him with honest brown eyes.

"It's not a ballad if it's about a break up," Louis grumbles. 

Harry bites his lip as the atmosphere shifts. He subtly watches Louis from the corner of his eye then bounces back to Zayn who doesn't look upset or angry at the words thrown at him. Instead, he drops his eyebrows in a worried way and stares at Louis. They must be having some sort of speechless conversation that Harry isn't skilled enough to tap into like Liam and Niall now seem to be. So he stands, twisting his torso, waiting for them to finish and when they do, none of their faces express that they have knowledge of Louis' quip a minute ago. 

The sun is beating down hard as ever and Harry isn't a fan of standing around when there are air conditioned buildings calling his name in every direction. He doesn't want to say anything though in fear that someone will snap at him or worse, ignore him. So he stays put and keeps his lips sealed. One thing he does do is softly place his hand at the bottom of Louis' spine, rubbing tentatively in a soothing motion. For a second Louis tenses and glances the opposite way and Harry almost drops his hand as he remembers that Louis technically isn't his to touch so softly. But then he subtly moves closer to Harry. Louis' face remains indifferent but he turns pliant, lets his body casually fall into Harry's side. It'd be difficult to admit to the butterflies that tickle Harry's heart.

"I don't get it," Liam says with a blank stare at them.

"You don't have to," Louis replies smoothly, passive aggressively commanding Liam to stay confused.

"Point taken," Liam nods apologetically.

"So are we going somewhere else now or..?" Harry slowly asks, dotting his eyes from person to person.

"A parallel universe would be nice. Who's up for time hopping?" Louis asks sarcastically.

"Can we stop by your place for food first?" Niall asks.

"Of course. We couldn't squeeze through worm holes on an empty stomach," Louis replies, nodding his head. His hair tickles Harry's shoulder.

"Shut up, both of you," Zayn says. "We're going to go up there, get stoned, and call it a day, alright? I'm tired. I don't have time for games."

Louis laughs childishly and reaches an arm behind his back to grip Harry's wrist. He tugs him forward in slow steps, spinning backwards to maintain contact with the boys. "Well come on then. Whatever Sleeping Beauty says, goes."

Zayn rushes forward to smack Louis in the side of the head before they continue like a pack of playful wolves across the park, to the building Harry almost associates with home. Louis' hand stays clasped on Harry's wrist loosely, a light weight that guides Harry the entire way. If Harry is a ship, Louis would be his compass. The perfect duo in a less than perfect world.      

 

☾

 

"Harry, wake up. Harry. Harry. Harry."

Each repetition of his name is accompanied by a jab to a random part of Harry's face. His cheek, his nose, his forehead, his lip. Louis obviously can't decide which will be best in the daunting task of disrupting Harry's slumber.

"Stop," Harry grumbles deeply, turning his face further into the pillow. 

He's still exhausted from the multiple performances he did earlier, and after a few mile jog and a Bake Off marathon with Louis, it was a miracle to fall asleep last night. The thing is, it only feels like it's been a few short hours rather than the full eight or nine that he usually gets. Ah, you win some you lose some, right?

" _Wake the fuck up,_ come on." Louis is still persistent in his attempt to not only wake Harry, but have him alive and alert.

So Harry reluctantly opens one eye and is surprised to find that it's still dark in the flat. The only light comes from a sudden flash outside that seeps through the thin curtains on the windows.

"Whad'you want," Harry says, barely decipherable.

"It's storming," Louis states.

"Okay," Harry says, slow and drawn out.

With no further explanation, Louis fidgets and then reaches down to pull Harry's blanket off him. All of Harry's strength becomes useless as he lets his body be exposed to the cold nighttime air. Louis bundles the blanket under one arm then starts tugging on Harry's bicep, still not saying a word.

"What the fuck are you doing to me," Harry groans, standing up against his will and rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

"Ed texted me about you earlier," Louis says as no means of explanation. He steps forwards and gently pushes Harry backwards, guiding him in a path towards the hallway. 

"What'd he say?" Harry asks, looking around him and at Louis for some hint at what's happening. 

If he about to go through what happens in American college movies? The kidnapping induction ceremony? Is Harry going to have to prove his worth in order to remain Louis' friend? 

At Louis' bedroom door, Louis finally responds. "He was wondering when you have time to go to the studio. I told him I'd ask you and get back to him."

"So is that why you're dragging me into your bedroom in the middle of the night? To inquire about my nonexistent social schedule?"

"Oh my _god,"_ Louis sighs, whipping around. "I don't like storms, alright? I didn't want to just wake you up and say hey, Harry, I know you're asleep and everything, but I'm a bit of a baby and want you to bloody lay with me!" Louis exclaims, his eyes hard and wide. Harry's chest tightens slightly, knowing that he's accidentally struck another one of Louis' nerves.

"You really could've just said that in the first place. I wouldn't have shamed you or waved you away," Harry frowns. He pads across the floor and watches Louis toss the blanket on the ground and angrily climb into bed.

Louis stares at him with his arms crossed. He looks small like this, all of the energy that usually fills the room absorbed back into his thin body, filling him to the point of bursting. Harry can sense it, can feel the fear that Louis's trying to hide away now. Using what little common sense he has, Harry picks the blanket up and shuts the bedroom door behind him before moving towards the bed. It's a queen mattress with a thick black comforter on top and a mound of fluffy pillows at the head. Harry nearly drools as he climbs onto it.

Louis' gaze follows his every move closely like he's seconds away from attacking. It almost makes Harry second guess what he's doing but instead he overcomes the uncertainty by laying on his side mere inches from Louis and throwing an arm out to rest on Louis' chest. He can feel the steady thumping of his heart.

"So did Ed actually text you?" Harry asks in an attempt to get Louis' mind off the storm raging outside.

"Yeah, he did," Louis says quietly. His ribs expand then fall under Harry's palm.

"Can you tell him I'm free whenever? Man, I can't believe this is actually real.." Harry laughs, a loud bang of thunder punctuating his awe.

Louis slightly winces. "I'll text him in the morning, and you best believe it.. You're incredible." He places a cold hand on top of Harry's and it sends shivers down his spine.

"Mm," Harry hums. "So're you." Once he throws the blanket over his body, he feels the tiredness flow back into him. 

He closes his eyes but still senses Louis shifting beside him. The room is still and the air is calm. The only sound is their breathing and the rain beating on the windows vehemently, thunder and lightning throwing spice into the mix every once in awhile. For what it's worth, Louis does seem calmer which is the reason Harry's here, right? There doesn't _have_ to be conversation. Maybe Louis wants to sleep now and won't be mad if Harry does so too.

Eyes closed and mouth parted, Harry is in a sleepy bliss. Reality is slowly turning back into a dream as every mute second ticks by. That's why it startles him when Louis speaks back up.

"Harry, we're friends, aren't we?" He asks in a small voice.

Harry blinks to find Louis' head turned to face him. "Course we are, Lou."

"Just friends? Apart from the extra.. kissing and whatnot?" Louis returns, impossibly smaller.

"If that's what you want then yeah, friends and just friends," Harry whispers.

It pains Harry to say that. That they're friends, nothing more to it. Their mouths may burn with the taste of each other and their skin may be scarred with gentle touches, but at the end of the night, all they resort back to is friendship. Each time Harry tries for more, he's denied, then is forced to laugh it off when Louis says _can't get too excited now_ with that sweet manipulative smile of his. 

_Fuck this,_ Harry wants to say. He fights the temptation just barely when the pressure builds in his gut.

"Friends can sleep in the same bed," Louis barely speaks, his speech languid and low. At this point it seems that he's talking more to himself than Harry, convincing himself to believe things his heart may refuse to. "Friends can share the same blanket."

Harry finds his eyes but can't read them in the dark. Normally they speak miles a minute, leaving all of Louis' secrets on display for anyone who can get close enough to reach them. But now his eyes are deep blue pits, his pupil blending with his iris and his long lashes fanning out over them, casting deeper shadows. Nevertheless, Harry decides that Louis is asking him to get under the covers. So what if he's got no backing to the assumption other than temptation and desire?

Once Harry starts shuffling around to slide under the sheets, Louis simultaneously flips over. His back faces Harry and his arm lay loosely in front of him. The opportunity presents itself and Harry takes advantage of it. Under the same blanket, sharing the same heat, Harry scoots forward until his knees bump into the bent backs of Louis'. He wraps a strong arm around Louis' torso and protects him against the fearsome storm raging outside. 

Louis doesn't resist or try to escape Harry's grasp. If anything, he slowly melts back into Harry, tangling their feet and absentmindedly tapping at Harry's thumb. It's an odd place to see Louis in. His boisterous, rambunctious, and overall dramatic personality is put under the rocks for this new, softer side to come out. 

Harry knows that this is rare. After tonight, Louis will never speak of this event again and will more than likely heighten his leadership advances in the friendship. It's surprisingly okay with Harry, though. It doesn't matter what happens tomorrow morning or the first Tuesday of next month. All that matters is their position right now, the trust and the heat creating a force field around them.

"I'm not kidding when I say you're going to be a star. You're going to fucking rule the world in a year's time," Louis speaks lowly. "You're going to forget about all of this and go on to such great things, I can feel it. Hopefully you won't forget about me too."

Harry's not sure if Louis is sleep talking now or if these are his genuine, well thought out feelings. Either way, it makes Harry's mood shift to sadness. His heart sinks and he tightens his grip around Louis.

"Please tell me you don't actually think that," he whispers into the space between himself and Louis' neck. A lack of response stirs his emotions. "Listen, Ed didn't forget about you and neither will I. We're– we're best friends." _Ouch._ "We have been since we first met, under your command I may add. And you've given me a place to call home now. You're an unforgettable force in my life, Lou, whether you want to believe it or not."

Louis' finger traces along the back of Harry's hand, gliding over his knuckles and tapping at his fingertips. It takes ages for him to reply. Harry would think he's asleep if it weren't for the soothing pattern of his ever moving finger. 

"I don't," Louis finally states.

"Don't what?" 

"Don't want to believe that. It almost makes me feel _too_ important," Louis explains to the dark meanwhile Harry is still lost. "See, I fuck a lot of things up. Relationships, jobs, grades, the whole array. Not horribly, but still. I feel like eventually I'll do the same with you and screw up whatever you've got going for you and lose you over it." 

"That's bullshit," Harry sighs deeply, fighting sleep desperately. Storms make him tired but he's willing to stay awake as long as Louis needs him to. "You're a great person and whatever you've done before does not mean anything now. If I ever lost you, it'd kill me, so I definitely wouldn't cut our ties myself. Don't fight me on it, cus I know myself better than you do." Harry tries to end the conversation by sweetly warning Louis not to delve further into whatever self destructing mindset he's formulated.

"So you won't get rid of me that easy then?" Louis asks. He sounds off, but it's difficult to hear his mumbles over the rain.

"No," Harry confirms. "We're friends now, we'll be friends fifty years later. I'll remember you and everything happening today. I mean, I can't just let go of these late night cuddles and our unfair FIFA matches that lead to angry platonic make out sessions."

Louis laughs and it's a melodious sound, his ribs vibrating under Harry's arms. "Platonic indeed." He goes quiet and then says, "I think that's a talk for another day when I'm not half asleep."

So there will be a talk then. Harry figures that's a definite thing because Louis wouldn't have said it otherwise. It's scary to think about already, because he's been so anxious to find out why exactly Louis wants them to remain friends and why Louis thinks Harry would just... forget about him. Because clearly something is going on is his maze of a brain that's too complicated for Harry to solve on his own.

"Good. Now go to sleep," Harry mumbles, sighing deeply.

"Okay. Thanks, Harry," Louis says. "I'm sorry I'm so bad with words. You can forget about this whole conversation, but just know that I don't want you to forget about me. Ever."

By the time Louis has finished his statement, Harry is steady tipping over the edge of consciousness into the realm of sleep, but luckily the words aren't totally lost on him.

 

☾

 

In a week's time, Harry is in a cab on his way to a high end studio to meet up with none other than Ed Sheeran. After that night with Louis, Harry got Ed's number and they discussed times when they were both free. Turns out Ed is only in the city for a few more days before he sets off on his UK leg of a tour, eventually bleeding into the states. 

While Harry knows he should be focussing on Ed, his mind keeps straying back to Louis. Specifically, the night they slept together— literally slept, that is. Why had Louis been so worried about Harry forgetting him after he knew they'd become close already? Why did he need repeated confirmation that they were friends? 

There's an itching at the back of his mind saying that it's his undetermined fame that's holding Louis back. Like when Zayn said the other day that Harry would write a song about how bad Louis is in bed, Louis put his guard up. Maybe he genuinely believes that if they got together, Harry would expose him without permission or write hurtful songs if they broke up. Harry frowns just thinking about how untrue it is.

By the time the cab pulls up to the front of the studio, Harry hasn't come up with any solid conclusions about the Louis Dilemma. Fuck it. He’ll get the answers whenever Louis decides to sit down and have a lengthy conversation. There’s no telling when it’ll happen because Louis hates to be serious, but Harry can wait as long as it takes.

Harry goes inside the studio and is stunned by how nice it looks, so much different from the shoddy set up in his bedroom at home. There are polished white tiles on the floor, large photographs of singers who have recorded here. It’s something Harry could never get used to even if he tried. In the back, it becomes more settled and homely with wooden floors and strings of white lights bordering the top of the room and the booths. Ed is already lounging on a sofa pushed against a side wall beside an entire professional sound board. Sitting in front of the sound board, however, is another familiar face.

“Harry, good to see you again bro!” Niall exclaims with a smile, spinning his chair around and back again.

“Good to see both of you,” Harry replies, nodding at Niall then Ed. He sets his guitar case on the ground and awkwardly stands in the middle of the small space, not sure where to go from here.

“You look lost,” Ed laughs. “Come sit down beside your good old friend.” He pats the cushion beside him and Harry smiles before making his way over and dropping down.

“So.. I’m not really sure how this goes. I’ve never, uh, collaborated with anyone before,” Harry admits, scratching his thigh.

“Just relax. All it’s gonna be is us three fucking around with instruments and lyrics. Nothing even has to come out of this, but if we do hit some lyrical gold, we’ve got a studio set and a producer ready to record us,” Ed explains kindly. “I’m a bit hungry right now, though. You guys up for some 'za?”

Niall and Harry both nod and Harry let’s out a deep breath. He was worried that he’d be behind in this whole game and that he’d have to wing the entire session, making lyrics up as Ed grimaced at each line. Honestly, he didn’t even figure they’d record anything. It just seemed like a studio would be a regular place for two artists to write music together. Obviously he was wrong. This is all much more relaxed than he could have imagined.

“A'ight,” Ed nods slowly, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll get two classic pepperoni pies because me and Niall can destroy one together and I don’t know your abilities yet, Harold.”

So it begins. The pizza is ordered, Harry’s guitar is taken out, and they begin writing. For a while there are no words, just melodies and tunes and hooks strummed out absentmindedly by all three of them. It’s interesting seeing Niall making up solid patterns on the guitar, because Harry had no idea he even played. Honestly, he’s a bit _better_ than Harry, as is Ed. He just can’t compare to Louis’ entire ring of talented friends apparently.

They take a break to eat but once they get done with that, Ed suggests they start coming up with real lyrics now. They’ve got a slow, relaxed beat but nothing to back it up yet.

“Any experiences you want to get off your chest?” Ed directs at Harry, who’s now laying on his back on the floor with his calves resting on the sofa.

Harry closes his eyes and sighs. Immediately, his mind jumps to Louis because why wouldn’t it? He’s just not sure if he’s close enough with Ed or Niall to start talking about his problem yet. Then again, they’ve known Louis much longer than Harry has, so they could help decipher his words and feelings. Yeah, alright. Harry’s going to toughen up and talk about his problem then whether it gets him somewhere or nowhere at all.

“I’m, uh- well, have you ever been friends with someone but you’re like _‘whoa, no, this can’t only be friendship’_?” Harry asks quietly, staring at the flat white ceiling.

“Hasn’t everyone?” Ed chuckles.

“Probably, but. I don’t know. I kind of want, or _need_ , to write something about that.. situation.” He’s trying to get his point across without saying anything too specific in fear of them-

“Ohh no, I know what this is about,” Niall says, leaning back in his chair and meeting Harry’s eyes.

“You do?” Harry challenges with a weak voice.

“Cocky, loud son of a bitch that doesn’t know how to display feelings outside of his little drawings?” Ed throws in casually and Harry physically winces and frowns.

Niall cups a hand around the side of his mouth and loudly whispers, “I think Ed knows too.” Then they both grin at each other and stare at Harry.

He wishes he could sink into the ground right now, but since he can’t, he’ll speak. “Okay, fine, you know who it is. That doesn’t help me any.”

“We don’t know what the problem is exactly, mate,” Ed supplies. He reaches to the floor to pick another warm slice of pizza from the half empty box before settling back into the sofa.

So Harry sighs and retells the story of his and Louis’s conversation the other night. He tries to recall everything Louis said and what he implied, struggling to even do that much because it was all so confusing. Ed and Niall listen intently and hum when needed, shake their heads respectively. When Harry finishes, there’s silence for a beat.

“First off, I’m gonna tell you that Louis has a kind heart but he's been fucked over a lot. It's ridiculous and it gets to his head sometimes,” Ed explains airily, waving his hand around as he talks. "Second, I want it to be perfectly clear that he likes you, no matter what he says about friendship. Shit, he got you to cuddle him through a storm. That’s a big thing for him, overcoming his pride and all.”

“That’s true,” Niall nods. 

"So he's got a shaky past, I'll be careful about that. But about what really matters— he apparently _like-_ likes me, yet wants us to remain friends." The men nod. Harry groans. "Why is he so complicated?"

"Who would Louis Tomlinson be without a ton of drama and complications?" Niall smiles, wide and teasing.

“My boyfriend probably,” Harry blurts out then snaps his mouth shut as his eyes widen. “I-”

“No need to explain,” Ed interrupts, swallowing a bite of pizza. He pats the area beside him and tugs a small notebook from under Harry’s foot. With a pencil stuffed into the spiral binding, he tosses in down onto Harry’s stomach. “Write. We have the basic instrumental, all we need is the heart. The lyrics.”

“What exactly am I writing?” Harry asks. “Like, stuff about Louis? Miserable pining?”

Niall’s gone silent at this point, just letting Ed and Harry work their magic. He’s messing around on his phone with a distracted grin. Ed finishes the slice he’s been working on up to the crust then chucks it back into the box, dusting his hands together then patting his thighs.

“Should’ve gotten Italian crust, I hate that dry shit,” he sighs. “But anyways, why don’t we try to focus on the friend boundary thing. Louis wants you guys to remain friends for God knows what reason and obviously that’s not what you want. And we all know that deep down it’s not what he wants either. So just work with it.”

Harry nods and tries to think of words to sum up his emotions. For the first time in a long while, nothing come to mind. No words start forming themselves into lines, no metaphors jump around trying to make their way into the song. His head falls blank under the grueling pressure of writing a song about Louis.

This is where Ed comes in. He offers up some details to get in there and constantly reminds Harry to keep it simple and not overdo anything. If Harry tries to get too poetic, Ed says, the song will end up more as a soppy joke then something meaningful and relatable, that can hit home to millions of people in a similar situation. He admits that there’s some songs on the radio now that are like that and it’s ridiculous. Harry agrees. While his music should definitely have meaning and be something you can paint onto walls, the lyrics have to remain reasonable.

“Why don’t you start off by saying _‘we’re not friends’_ , you know? Get the main idea across then go into an explanation as to why,” Ed offers insightfully. He picks up his guitar and starts strumming. _“We’re not, no we’re not friends. Nor have we ever been..”_

Harry sings it back as Ed continues the pattern. _“We just.. we just try to keep those secrets in a lie.”_

_“Hm hmm hm, hmm hm,”_ Ed hums with a smile. Harry laughs and then resurfaces himself in an upright position.

With Niall eagerly watching and Ed laughing and prompting more lines from Harry, they start to make quick progress. The song seems to write itself as more feelings of Harry’s are poured into it. 

_“Friends just sleep in another bed, and friends don’t treat me like you do.”_ He's practically having a one sided conversation with Louis. 

_“I know that there’s a limit to everything,”_ Harry sings, _“but my friends won’t love me like you.”_

He pauses and the world around him seems to stop to catch a glimpse at what just happened too. There are two sets of eyes on him, shining with amusement and knowing. Harry avoids them at all costs and scribbles down the words, biting back a smile the entire time.

“We’re definitely recording this today,” Ed sing songs and, well – that’s that.

 

☾

 

Within the span of a month, Harry’s life has gone from ten to two hundred and it’s all thanks to Louis. Well, technically it’s Ed’s doing, but without Louis, there’s no way Harry would’ve even met Ed, so. A bouquet of his thanks is still sent to the small brunette.

Relationship wise, he and Louis are still in a muddy stand still. They make out, cuddle, and do other coupley things, but they’ve cleverly danced around any serious talks. Harry is ashamed to admit that he’s too scared to address the situation in fear that it’ll all end too soon. So instead, he focuses on the good things he’s getting and puts all of his angsty feelings into his music.

Speaking of which, his music is what’s boosted lately. His popularity overall has skyrocketed since Ed took a video of him while they were recording and edited it with some ridiculous caption. Then he followed Harry on Instagram and Twitter, tweeted about him, and shared a link for people to download Harry’s crude, Garage-Band-recorded EP on iTunes. His fans are great listeners.

As more people are introduced to his stuff, more show up to see him play. As more show up to see him, more paid gig opportunities are offered. There’s still no sign of a label interested in signing him as of yet, but with the sales he’s making now, having a full team behind him isn’t an issue. He’s getting money for doing what he loves and doing it with people he can now call his closest friends; what more could he ask for?

It’s a Saturday evening. Louis is straddling the coffee table working on a commision for some indie band that’s playing a show at the Apollo. Harry sits on the sofa strumming his guitar, making up mindless melodies and humming lines about Louis under his breath. The journal bedside him is slowly but surely filling with lyrics about Louis and everything that's happened to Harry since meeting him.

Every now and then he looks up and catches a glimpse of Louis with his tongue bitten between his front teeth, eyes hard set on the paper in front of him. With his thick hair pulled back with a headband, Harry can see that he’s got a pink streak of paint at the top of his cheekbone and a few splatters at the edge of his jaw. He’s art without realizing it.

The longer Harry’s eyes linger, the more he wants to say something dumb like compliment Louis’ jaw line or say he wants to pet his eyelashes. He holds back though, knowing that the comments are pointless. If there’s one thing he’s learned above all else, it’s that Louis will brush away a compliment quicker than you can think it up. Narcissism is one of his key personality figures, but beyond that, he’ll rarely let anyone strengthen his confidence.

“Why don’t you ever put your hair in a bun?” Harry asks because it seems logical enough.

Louis looks up then shields his eyes as the setting sun blinds him. “One, I wouldn’t know how. Two, I would look like a bloody idiot.”

“You would not look like an idiot. You’ve got a sharp facial structure, so any style fits you,” Harry soothes with a few sharp chords. “And if you’d like, I could put it up for you. I know how.” Louis’s expression stays unmoved so Harry digs harder. “If you don’t like it you can immediately take it down. No one would ever know it happened.”

It takes a moment for Louis to give in, but he does eventually, whining about how persistent Harry is. He sits up and let’s Harry pull the band off his head, leaning his head back into the touch. His hair falls soft and smooth under Harry’s fingers. All he can do is run his hand through the locks and marvel at them, considerably jealous at the way the orange light gleams off of every strand.

Using the hair tie clinging to his wrist, Harry scoops up all of Louis’ hair and ties it into a tight but messy bun. He loosens the rest of the hair a bit so it’s not tugging too hard at Louis’ scalp. Louis doesn’t seem to mind it at all when Harry lowers himself back onto the sofa and marvels at his work with a fond smile.

“You really do look great,” Harry says, eyes locked on Louis’ side profile and the baby hairs curling at his temple.

Louis slowly blinks then turns to Harry, his lips quirked upwards. He’s breathtaking– genuinely, one hundred percent _beautiful_. The way the light dances across his skin and hair, making shadows and highlighting his already wonderful features. Even the black shirt he’s wearing is sheer and lets his chest tattoos peek through the fabric. Harry’s heart jumps with joy.

“I’ll admit it’s more comfortable than I thought it’d be,” Louis says. He pats a hand on the bun and his smile widens. “I feel like a true modern day artist now.”

"Now you need to work part time at a coffee shop or vinyl store and you'll be set," Harry grins.

"As if I would ever be caught in either of those places. I mean, why spend good money on a record player and discs when iTunes exists anyways?"

"You have a good point but you don't even buy things from iTunes, you just download them illegally," Harry points out. 

Louis bites on his tongue. "I bought _your_ album." 

Harry claps twice. "Congratulations and thank you for supporting my career."

"Don't I get a thank you kiss or something?" Louis asks with a playful smile.

"Oh, so now you expect me to award you for not stealing money from me when I'm already struggling? Well think again. I play a tougher game than that." Harry leans back into the sofa and crosses his legs, staring at Louis condescendingly.

Louis huffs and goes back to working on his painting. He's sitting side saddle on the table now, his feet hanging off the end facing the TV. His back is arched hard and Harry's sure it's got to be painful, but he lets Louis do what he wants. If he wants to be a cat stretching in the afternoon sun, then so be it.

Harry's phone rings under his thigh and he doesn't even check who it is before answering because if he waited any longer, Louis would've gone off about his supposedly annoying ringtone. As if 

"Hello?" 

_"Harry, hey,"_ Ed says, voice crackling through the speaker. _"How are you?"_

"Good, just chilling with Lou. How's the tour going so far?" He asks, watching Louis give him a dumb smile at his name being mentioned.

_"The crowds are fucking incredible. It's good to finally be playing some new songs after years of the same ones."_ Ed sounds like he's smiling and Harry is genuinely happy for him. _"Anyways, I actually wanted to talk to you about something important. And before you start worrying, no, it’s nothing bad.”_

Bad or not, Harry’s heart still picks up its pace.

“Alright, what is it?”

Louis seems to catch on that something important is being spoken. He snaps his head up and raises his brows at Harry, forehead wrinkling visibly now that his hair is pulled back. Harry holds up one finger to tell him to hold on and Louis frowns.

_“So I got asked to play at Leeds Fest in two weeks, right, but it’s on the same day that I’ve got a show in Dublin. I don’t want to fly out there then fly back because that’d be a mess and I’m a simple man,”_ Ed says. 

“Okay..” Harry slowly says, unsure of what this has to do with him.

_“Harold my boy, I’ll be frank with you: how would you feel about kind-of-sort-of filling my place and performing a set at Leeds?”_ Holy shit. Oh _shit_.

“Oh my god, are you, like- Are you _serious_?” Harry asks as a smile fights to take over his face. Louis is very interested now, climbing off the table with a huff and squeezing right next to Harry on the sofa. He presses his ear against the back of Harry’s hand in an attempt to hear Ed.

_“Yeah, I talked to the people about it, mentioned you were good and all that, and they were up for it. Sometimes they get unsigned bands to play in empty slots, so that won’t be a problem. Obviously you won't have the same time considering I was one of the headliners, but, still. You’ll get paid pretty well along with getting yourself some great promo. Many pros to the situation, very few cons.”_

Harry’s in shock to say the least. Here he was a minute ago, petting Louis’ hair and living out his insignificant life, and now he just got booked for a music festival. The sun outside can’t compare to the glowing in his chest and the warmth he feels with Louis pressed against his side.

“You’re a saint. An actual angel. Oh my god. Oh my god I’m going to play at a music festival,” Harry stutters out. As soon as he says it, Louis jumps back.

“Harry fucking Styles, the brightest star in the galaxy, is finally getting his big break! Fuckin' hell, man!” Louis exclaims happily, his bun slowly loosening as he bounces up and down. 

_“Festivals are absolutely ace, you’ll love it. Tell Louis I say calm the fuck down and I miss him,”_ Ed laughs.

Harry smiles brightly at Louis. “Ed says hello.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure that’s all he spat about me. Tell him to get off the bloody line already so we can celebrate,” Louis bites.

_“Sounds like I’m being forced to hang up,”_ Ed sighs. _“Good luck with that whole thing by the way. Are you guys still, y’know-”_

“Yeah, we are,” Harry says solemnly. He doesn’t let the disappointment show on his face with Louis right beside him, but he hopes Ed can pick up on his tone. 

_“No worries. If anything, you can bring him to the gig and play ‘Friends’ for him. Maybe then it’d get through his thick skull and you could have some kinda Love Actually moment.”_

“What an idea that is, Edward,” Harry says, pursing his lips and nodding his head. At the same time, Louis drops his head into Harry’s lap and starts tracing Harry’s jawline with a finger. “Have a good show tonight. I’ll talk to you soon.”

_“Back at ya,”_ Ed replies and then the line falls dead.

Harry drops his phone and looks down at Louis, unimpressed with his behavior. “Do you need something?”

Louis scrunches his face and rolls his eyes. “I want _details_ , Harry, _details._ How the fuck did you land a gig at a music fest, and which one is it anyways? Obviously I’m going even if it’s one of those hippie ones like Coachella. I’ll wear floral pants and ten rings on each hand just for my best friend.”

Harry shifts, internally cringing at the term Louis uses. It’s hard to sit admiring Louis’ beauty from his sparkling eyes down to his exposed calves all while knowing that they’re just friends. It doesn’t feel right really. It feels plain wrong to be so infatuated and in awe of someone Harry can kiss yet calls an equivalent label to Niall.

"Ed got offered a slot for Leeds Festival but he can't do it, so he mentioned my name and now I'm in. Also, please wear a fringe crop top if anything," Harry tells him as the image comes to light.

"That's sick!" Louis exclaims, eyebrows arched and mouth set in an open smile. "And I could get down with some fringe. I've already got enough on my head, I may as well wear it on a shirt."

"That's the spirit," Harry agrees enthusiastically.

Louis sucks on his lip and stares at Harry. "Would it be okay to kiss you right now? For congratulatory purposes?"

"Absolutely not."

So, naturally, Louis sits up and scoots backwards onto Harry's thighs. He turns his head sideways then leans in, fiercely meeting Harry's lips. His arms hook around the back of Harry's neck, so Harry decides to go for Louis' jaw, resting one hand on his bony shoulder as the other softly caresses his sharp cut jawline. There's a fair bit of stubble on his cheeks that scratches Harry's fingertips and the area around his mouth, but it feels incredible. Everything about this and about Louis in general is incredible.

Before it can get too heated with any tongues or grinding involved, Louis pulls back, biting Harry's bottom lip for extra effect. He's got a devilish grin still and his eyes are locked on Harry's. The blue is the raging ocean, waves in his irises crashing onto the dark shores of his pupils. Every now and then they flit down to Harry's mouth, and Harry subconsciously licks his bottom lip causing Louis to fan his lashes and move right back up. 

"How would you feel about going out tonight? Get a few drinks, dance a bit, drunkenly fly to the stars," Louis says dreamily. He scoots backwards until his bum falls into the tiny empty space between Harry and the arm rest, his legs leisurely spread across Harry's lap.

"Just us, or?" Harry asks, trying not to sound too hopeful. The thought of going to a club with Louis, grinding against him and freely being able to do body shots off him is the equivalent to heaven on Earth.

"Nah, it wouldn't be much fun with only two of us." Louis shakes his head. _Alright then,_ Harry sighs internally. "I'll text the lads about it. They can drag along whoever they want and we can make a proper night out of it."

Harry drums his fingers on Louis' knee. "Sounds good," he nods.

Louis whips out his phone and starts typing away, sending the invites out. It takes no longer than five minutes until Louis is groaning and pushing himself off of Harry and back to his respective place on the table. The shorter layers of hair begin to fall away from his bun, waving and twisting together around his neck and over his ear. 

In a quick movement, Harry lifts his phone up and snaps a picture of Louis. He gets it saved and locked within the confines of his passcode-guarded device before Louis whips his head around, narrowing his eyes.

"Delete it," he orders softly.

Harry smiles. "No."

"But you said no one else would see this ridiculous hairstyle! I can't have my mates using it against me!" Louis is whining now, pouting, using every tactic he's got to persuade Harry.

"You look beautiful, and I'm going to share your beauty with Instagram," Harry tells him smartly. He catches Louis' flustered look before he pulls himself back together.

"I could sue you, you know."

Harry smirks. "No you couldn't."

"I could hire an assassin," Louis tries.

"Yes, I'm sure an assassin would take orders from a tiny twenty three year old for a pay of twenty quid and a few McDonalds coupons. Maybe he would even dispose of my body in the river if you threw in a watercolor portrait."

"Oi, fuck off," Louis snidely replies. Then he sighs, slowly relenting. "Can I at least see the picture before you humiliate me in front of your bloody army of followers?"

"Sixteen thousand to be correct, but sure, you can see for yourself how hot you look," Harry says, turning the screen around once it's lit up with the controversial image.

Louis stares at it intently. He shows no clear signs of displeasure but none of satisfaction either. Harry wants to make a narcissist joke, but he chooses to hold back until Louis says something.

"Alright, I do look pretty damn good," Louis grins, leaning back from where he's scooted forward towards Harry. "I've got that hot mess look going on where you can't tell if I just woke up from an afternoon snooze of if I artfully sat around making myself look like this. It's a puzzle for the mind."

_Now_ Harry can mock Louis' ever present narcissism. "Honestly, do you identify as selfsexual? Louisexual? Am I just a failed experiment in your path to discovering that you're in love with yourself?"

Louis drops his jaw and gasps. "I'm not even out yet, how could you tell?"

"It was just a hunch. And by the way, if louisexuality is an actual thing, then that's definitely what I am," Harry winks. Louis snorts and then starts cackling like the hyena that he is.

"Well see, now you're making me second guess myself. I think I'm not only into me, but a little into you too, so I'd have to use the label 'larrysexual'," Louis manages once his laughter dies down some.

It's hard to tell exactly how serious Louis is being at the present moment. There's an itching in Harry's heart saying that Louis totally completely means what he said and he's one hundred percent into Harry, but on the other hand, there's a sign in his brain yelling at him to not look too far into conversations like this. 

"Larry is an ugly name for us," Harry states.

Louis shrugs and nods. "Yeah, but it's either that or Houis, so take your pick."

"Larry it is!" Harry smiles. "Now get back to work on that poster thing. I need to find a good filter for this picture."

Louis rolls his eyes but leans back to his working position nevertheless. Eventually the sun goes down and they fade back into their own lives, Louis doing his job without bothering Harry about nonsense, and Harry taking a nice nap. He's lulled to sleep by Louis quietly mumbling Chasing Cars lyrics under his breath without the knowledge that anyone's listening. 

 

☾

 

The second Harry and Louis make their way through the crowded club to their group's set meeting spot, Harry hears a vaguely familiar voice call out, "Tomlinson, good to see you!"

"Sure it is, Grimshaw. No need to pretend to love me for Liam's sake," Louis replies, yelling loudly over the thumping music.

The purple, strobing lights of the club throw Harry off. He was never much of a partier in school and since coming here, he still hasn't ventured into the club scene. The only thing that keeps him from feeling totally awkward in the place is the fact that the rhythm beats in his chest the same as it does in a concert.

"Oh, but I do truly love you. All of your bitchy remarks and obnoxious laughter," Nick Grimshaw smirks, wearing the same floral button-up that Harry remembers almost buying from Topman. He eyes Louis down, crossing his arms. "Especially your hot bod."

Louis flips him the bird and Niall, Liam, and Zayn all laugh. From what Harry can see, the only new additions to their group tonight are Nick (which, ok, is Louis linked to a person in every area of pop culture in Britain?) and a beautiful lady with her hand cupping Liam's bicep.

"Alright Harry, here's some more faces for you to remember," Louis starts with a hilariously bored expression. "That's Nick. There's no need for you to remember him though. He's a wanker. The lovely lady next to Liam is Sophia, and you should keep her in mind. She's incredibly sweet, though I have to warn you that after a few drinks, her and Liam start getting a little frisky."

"Noted," Harry nods with a smile to Louis. "Hi, I'm Harry Styles, nice to meet you."

He extends a hand towards Sophia first, exchanging warm smiles with her, then he moves to Nick, feeling slightly flustered when Nick shoots him a wink. Harry isn't quite sure what beef him and Louis have got and if it's genuine enough to worry about, but he makes a mental note to be at least a little cautious tonight. 

"Can we order some fucking drinks now? I'm ready to get absolutely pissed and dance my ass off out there," Niall says, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the main floor where half of the club is crowded.

They all agree and that's the kick start to the night. Within thirty minutes, Harry has already downed two mystery shots and been shoved a cocktail by Zayn who seems to be getting more comfortable around him. Louis has gone wandering off to the dance floor with Niall, jokingly dancing together in a world of their own. Liam and Sophia have ran off somewhere too, but where exactly, Harry's not sure of. All that's left behind of their group is him, Zayn, and Nick, all standing around a tall table littered with empty glasses.

"So do you have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend, if that's what you're into," Harry directs to Zayn, eyeing the way he seems to be uninterested with rubbing it up with a stranger tonight.

"Nah, just myself at the moment. I don't really like hooking up or anything though, so I usually just sit back or mess around with whoever's DJing if I happen to know them," Zayn responds coolly. His dark eyes catch Harry's and while he seems turned off from the world, there's still a spark there that shows he's enjoying thriving in the background.

"Oh, are you a DJ then?" Harry wonders. 

Zayn surprisingly nods and Harry is once again astounded by this talented ring of friends. "Yeah, went to school for it and everything. It's how I met Lou, actually. He was pissed and I was mixing. He literally just ran up to me, said I was the hottest guy he'd ever seen in his _entire life_ , then asked if he could try to mix something."

"Please tell me you didn't let him," Harry groans.

Zayn smirks and shakes his head in shame. "I was the hottest guy he'd seen in his life, how could I not? Everyone loved the terrible mashup of the Spice Girls and Take That anyways."

"He's had you in deep from the beginning," Harry laughs, taking a sip of his fruity concoction.

"You're one to talk." Zayn raises an eyebrow and Harry slowly lowers his glass, stunned by the bluntness.

Harry goes to make a clever quip, but before he can do so, he's being tapped on the shoulder. He spins on his heels and comes face to face with Nick, close enough to him to smell the lingering vodka from earlier.

"Do you want to go dance, Harry Styles?" Nick asks.

Harry panickedly looks off to the side for any sign of Louis and the others, but sadly they're nowhere to be found. He doesn't want to seem rude and turn Nick down and he guesses it'd be okay if they danced on their own for a little bit. Maybe Harry could get some insider information on what's going on between Nick and Louis and maybe befriend the guy on both of their behalves.

"Can I bring my drink?" Harry asks, not feeling tipsy enough to last the night.

"Of course," Nick smiles. "Come on, let's break a sweat now."

Harry offers an apologetic wave to Zayn who simply sips his drink instead of nodding or giving any signal of a goodbye. Harry's a little offended honestly. He thought they were getting along pretty well. Maybe he misinterpreted Zayn's general kindness for friendship. Well then, Harry doesn't need him _anyways_.

He's glad he chose a lightweight t-shirt to wear because once he's in between all of the moving bodies, it gets stiflingly warm. There are people around him at every angle, bumping into his elbows, laughing loudly just behind his head, grinding within arm's length of where he stands. It's not totally unsettling, he figures.. It's just new, and new things take a minute to get used to.

"I'm not the best dancer," Harry warns Nick as he only slightly sways his body to the beat. 

"This isn't a ball where you've got to take one step forward and pirouette twice," Nick laughs. "It's a dirty, dark club. No one gives a fuck about how you look when you're dancing. Hell, I'm too drunk to care already."

"Alright, alright," Harry amends, raising his hand. 

He watches Nick move under the warm, changing lights and slowly catches on to how to flow with the crowd. He holds his glass in the air and swivels his shoulders, moving his feet side to side in a steady pattern. Nick is grinning at him and Harry lets out a cackle, covering his mouth immediately but still continuing to dance in his ridiculous way.

"See, now you're getting it, Styles," Nick tells him.

"Too bad Louis can't see this. He's always making fun of what he calls my 'tentacle limbs'," Harry grins, sloshing his drink around in the glass.

Nick tightens his lips. "Why don't you forget about Louis for a little bit. Just live in the moment. I mean, if he's not over here paying attention to you, then why should you bother focussing on him?"

Harry slightly frowns and slows his movements. "Well I wasn't _focussing_ on him," he insists, but Nick gives him a Look that makes Harry second guess himself. "Okay, maybe a little then? Sorry."

"It's fine. Why don't we dance for real now so we blend in with this crowd a bit better," Nick smirks as he reaches to grab Harry's hips.

Harry's body is ready to go but the sober part of him is more reserved. He eyes the glass in his hand and realizes he should at least go set it down before anything else happens between the two of them. You know, for safety purposes. Because that's the only reason he's got to get away from this for a second.

Obviously.

"Bringing my drink was a bad idea. Think I need to go put it down before I spill it all over myself," Harry blurts out louder than needed. "I'll be right back."

Nick retracts himself and gives Harry a curt nod. Harry doesn't waste another second staring at him before pushing and wiggling his way back through the drunken dancers of the club. A few girls try to latch onto him as he passes but Harry awkwardly shrinks away and keeps moving forward, his destination kept firmly in his line of sight.

Standing beside their table is Zayn still and Louis looking positively radiant under the tinted lights. As Harry gets closer, he can see the sweat glossed on Louis and smiles at the way his hair has fallen from it's soft quiff and now swirls across his forehead. He walks faster, hoping to catch Louis before he dashes off somewhere again, but when Harry gets a few feet away, Louis leaves anyways. He turns to say something to Zayn who nods and watches Louis scurry away with just one vague glance at Harry. 

Harry falters in his steps. His eyes follow the boy's disappearing figure until it disappears completely behind a crowd of people. In an even more hurried pace than before, he goes up to Zayn and immediately asks what happened.

"He went out for a smoke," Zayn says slowly, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. 

"Was he– is he upset about something?" Harry questions, biting his lip. He knows Nick is waiting for him but Louis comes before a guy that he barely knows.

"Maybe a little," Zayn nods. He seems to be torn between telling Harry something and holding back the information. "I don't think it's my place to say anything."

In a split second decision, Harry whips his head around to see Nick already dancing with some short blonde guy, and rolls his eyes. He drops his glass with a clink. "I'm going to go talk to him."

"Good luck," Zayn draws out, slowly diverting his gaze to somewhere else as he drinks. It doesn't put off Harry though, who's on an empowered high from the alcohol.

It seems like the path leading outside the club is never ending. There's a new body every time Harry pushes past a different one and the lights mess with his already distorted vision, making him wobblier on his feet. By the time he finally reaches the front entrance, it's been about two minutes. He shakes out his hair and adjusts his shirt before going out into the warm night.

The loud bass still thrums even outside the club, echoing in the empty area. Against the wall to his right, Louis leans with a foot propped on the bricks, a cigarette held up to his lips. His eyes are locked on the darkness of the building across the street, lost in deep thought. Harry is wary to approach him, worried about ruining his sanctioned peace of mind, but he does so anyways because he won't stand for Louis in such an unusual state.

"Lou, are you okay?" He asks hesitantly into the night. 

Louis closes his eyes for a moment, then looks over to Harry once he opens them again. His electric blue irises are a muted silver. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be? I just needed a breather."

Harry slowly gets closer so they're just a foot apart. He examines Louis' guarded features and the subtle stressed knit of his eyebrows. "You just seem.. irritated, I guess."

"Well maybe I am then, Harry, but that's none of your business," Louis snaps. He takes a long drag to calm down and sinks back into the wall. "You can go ahead back to Nick now and leave me to myself."

Oh. So Louis must've seen Harry dancing with his awkward limbs anyways, just not with the same point of view that Harry was imagining. 

"Ah, so that's what this is about." Harry nods his head and looks to his boots.

"What?"

Harry looks up through his lashes and smiles bittersweetly. "You're jealous of me being in there with Nick."

Louis pops his eyebrows and rolls his eyes, shifting his stance as he takes another breath through his cigarette.  
  
Harry nearly laughs, quickly losing his patience with their entire situation. "God, Louis, can't you see that this isn't what friends do. _Friends_ don't get jealous when their other friends dance with guys."

Louis stiffens and presses his back flat against the bricks, not bothering to look Harry's way. "Well we aren't _just_ friends. We have.. we have benefits too."

"But why is that all it is? Why can't we just fucking be together if you clearly don't want me to be with anyone else?" Harry let's the words slip as his chest heats up, not worrying about trying to take them back. "Being friends with benefits won't work if we're emotionally involved, everyone knows that."

Louis pauses. The words may be sinking into him– at least, that's what Harry hopes is happening. Because Louis is showing no signs of listening, apart from the twitch of his finger against his thigh when Harry bit out the last sentence. 

"Listen, I'm sorry for being a little jealous tonight, but I still want our relationship to stay like this for both of our own goods," Louis says shockingly cool, for Harry knows how short his temper usually is. 

"Really? _Our_ goods? I'm getting no good from this, Louis. You're great , but I'm dealing with what's basically constant rejection from you. Do you know how hard it is to be invested in the taste of your lips one minute then go back to being laddy lads the next?" Harry asks desperately, trying to get his point across to Louis about why his heart can't handle this anymore. "Honestly, it seems more like you're being insecure and saving _yourself_ from getting too involved rather than doing anything for _both_ of our goods."

This gets a reaction from Louis. He lowers his hand holding the cigarette and looks at Harry with wide, hurt eyes. "Christ, I'm not being fucking insecure," he retaliates, his tone trying to be tough but falling weak. He sounds exhausted.

"You won't give me a real explanation yet you honestly want me to think that none of this stems from you being scared or insecure?" Harry's in too deep to pull back now. The logical side of him is yelling for his mouth to stop, begging him to not dig this hole deeper. But Harry's veins are flooded with bubbling alcohol and his thoughts are coming out, disregarding any and all warnings.

"It's not insecurity, you sodding dick. I'm simply trying to protect what relationship we already have instead of ruining it with one wrong move. Sorry I don't know how to explain it exactly, but that's all there is to it."

"Alright, let me see if I've got this straight then," Harry says deeply. "You thought we could stay friends and occasionally kiss and never have a stupid fall out because there was nothing to ruin between us, right? Is that what you had planned?"

Louis stays silent, so Harry continues.

"What about our friendship itself, Louis. That's important too. You say you're protecting it. Didn't you ever think that _maybe_ pushing away feelings could eventually wear it down the same way anything else could end a different kind of relationship?" 

"I– I genuinely don't know," Louis stutters.

Harry let's out a sigh and pushes his hair back. "Well. You never seem to know. So I'll let you figure it all out then. All I have to say is that I can't sit around acting like there's nothing between us when my heart's filled with everything for you, as annoyingly stubborn as you may be." Harry pauses to laugh. "It's actually funny— Of all the people I know, you seemed like the last person who would hold back from something out of fear. You always have such a brave attitude, but apparently it's all a facade. Have a good night, Louis."

It's like a timebomb was set the second they met and now it's finally exploded. Harry isn't mad at Louis per say, but he's frustrated and his tipsy mind can't handle such complex emotions. He turns to walk away, leaving a blank-faced Louis behind as he pushes back into the energetic atmosphere of the club. He half expects Louis to chase after him but it's not a surprise when there's nobody in his shadow.

His heart feels like it's at his feet when he sees Zayn, Liam, Niall, and Sophia. In an attempt to keep the disaster that just happened a secret, he nudges Zayn and ducks down to speak into his ear. 

"Any way I could sleep at your place tonight?"

Zayn turns to look at him with concern, but doesn't pressure any answers. Instead, he nods and replies, "We can go out through the side door," as if he knows Harry couldn't stand to see Louis at the moment. 

Zayn announces to their friends that they're heading home for the night. Kind goodbyes and side hugs are exchanged, drunkenly but with kind intentions nonetheless. Harry stumbles along behind Zayn, ducking his head due to the memory of him leaving Nick and never returning. Two men to avoid in one night— that's surely a new record. Once outside, the ride to Zayn's flat is blurry and insignificant. Upon arrival, Zayn points him in the right direction and the second Harry's body meets Zayn's couch, he passes out for the night, too many thoughts about Louis swirling in his frazzled mind.

 

☾

 

Harry wakes up the next morning with a pounding in his skull. It's like a jackhammer is breaking away inside of him, when in reality it's the aftermath of a dangerous mix of alcohol and stress. He turned on his stomach at some point in the night (or did he fall asleep like that?) so he twists until he's laying in a much more comfortable position on his side, facing outwards.

Zayn's flat is similar to how Harry would expect it to be. It's relatively small, decorated in an orderly, artsy fashion, topped off with a hint of modernity. The sofa he's on is leather and the floor beside him is covered by a rug with an intricate pattern on it.Harry can bet that Zayn makes a smidge more than Louis.

_Oh no_ , he thinks— _Louis._

Harry can't recall the exact words exchanged last night, but what he _can_ remember is that it ended all bitter, no sweet. It's not like he regrets what he said though. The cards needed to be put on the table so Harry did the honor of dealing them. What happens next is out of his realm of prediction. Considering the harsh things he's sure he implied to Louis, it's not exactly favorable odds, but he'll have to wait and see. 

“Good morning,” Zayn’s voice comes as he appears in front of Harry holding a mug. He seems alive and alert, not at all as miserable as Harry feels right now. Rightfully so.

“Thanks for letting me crash here,” Harry mumbles, his voice slowly breaking from its hours of silence. “Your sofa is comfortable.”

Zayn nods and looks down at him. “Glad you think so. Too bad you’ll be back on Louis’ tonight.”

Harry groans. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks about the night he fell asleep in Louis’ bed and it sends a wave of giddiness over him. While he may be annoyed with Louis right now, he can’t act like the crush he has isn’t still there. He’s thoroughly infatuated with Louis in a way that can’t be washed away after one argument.

“Can’t I move in here? I’ll pay half the rent if you let me hide away from my problems forever," Harry whines pitifully.

Zayn smirks and sips whatever substance is in his Scooby Doo mug. "Sorry, the only roommate I'm willing to keep is Killer."

Harry places a hand on his chest. "I'm killer though, aren't I?"

Zayn shakes his head and laughs. “No, bro, Killer is my cat.”

On cue, a large, fluffy creature strolls towards Zayn and rubs up against his leg, the long white tail wrapping around his calf. The cat is absolutely adorable with the purest white fur Harry’s ever seen, yet it’s name is Killer. 

Harry sits up and crosses his legs, staring at the animal in awe. “Why is it named Killer? It looks like a Frosty or.. Pillow."

"Louis named him. Said it'd be ironic and whatnot," Zayn shrugs. He nudges Killer with his foot, smiling down at him. "He's chill."

Harry clicks his tongue and snaps his fingers to call him over. When Killer hops into his lap, Harry smiles and runs his fingers through the thick fur. He becomes distracted by the softness and falls into a deep state of fond until the sofa dips beside him and he hears Zayn clear his throat.

"So about last night.." Zayn slowly starts, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

Harry sinks backwards and let's Killer lay down on his stomach. "Lou was obviously jealous of me and Nick, then said he still wants us to just be friends and I sort of snapped at him for it. It's just annoying, you know? Like, he gets jealous when I'm with someone else, but he still doesn't want to properly be together. I hate that he's so stubborn and set on the fact that dating would _"ruin our relationship"_. I don't know what to do to get him to simply _try_."

Harry feels like he's explained his dilemma six times now. It's getting exhausting. Maybe he should print out informational pamphlets. 

“Now I’m not choosing sides in this, but I’ll say that maybe calling him insecure wasn’t the best move if you’re trying to progress your relationship..” Zayn says slow and calm, his voice muffled inside his cup.

“So you’ve talked to Louis then,” Harry replies knowingly.

A nod. “He called.”

Harry’s interest spikes upon hearing this. If Louis called Zayn, he must have had something long to be said, something that couldn’t just be written over text. Or he must have been upset enough to need someone to physically talk to. Clearly a deep conversation happened and as much as he knows it’s not his business, Harry can’t help but wonder the words which were exchanged. 

“You won’t tell me what he said, will you?”

“Not word for word,” Zayn smiles. He shifts and let’s out a breath, the couch suddenly becoming uncomfortable for him. "Basically, he thinks he ruined it. He was angry while also panicking about you hating him. I told him not to worry about that, but–"

"Fuck," Harry groans, cutting Zayn off. So maybe blowing up at Louis wasn't the _best_ idea he's had, he'll admit that. "I didn't really mean that he's insecure, I just got caught up in the moment, and I don't hate him. It's the complete opposite. God, he's an idiot."

"Aren't we all?" Zayn raises his mug and slightly grins.

"Alright, I can sense you implying that I'm an idiot too, thanks," Harry grumbles.

“No, I said we’re all idiots. You, Louis, and even me included. It’s just that I didn’t make a messy situation for myself,” Zayn sighs. “You need to talk to him. I would let this angst drag on and have you hide away here, but for the sake of being Louis’ friend longer, I can’t let him be miserable. You two need to sit down, put everything on the table, apologize, and come to a conclusion on where you stand because it's obvious that both of you are terrible at communication.”

Zayn’s unbelievably smart and reasonable, talking to Harry with conviction about the situation. Clearly he cares about both of them, Louis especially, but Harry all the same, and it empowers Harry to actually want to do something about this. If it were anyone else Harry would probably scoff. He’d be petulant and go back to Louis in his own time, avoid feelings for as long as possible. But Zayn coming forward from his typically reserved state is something special. It means something greater.

The cat on Harry’s stomach purs and lays its head down. Harry runs his palm over his soft fur and let’s out a long, deep breath, smiling when Killer glares at him for moving the slightest measure. “He’s not going to whack me, is he?”

“Eh, I doubt it. If you say the wrong thing, yes, but otherwise, no.”

“That’s reassuring,” Harry mumbles.

“Just know that if he hits you, you deserve it.” Zayn’s tone shifts to something more protective and Harry decides not to press any more boundaries.

“Point taken. Now, how far off from his place are you?”

Harry drops Killer and makes himself look as presentable as possible while wearing the previous night’s clothes. Zayn explains the route to get back to Louis’ place, luckily less than half a kilometer with just a few turns. There are hair bands left over in Zayn’s bathroom from when he had Harry’s length hair in the winter, so Harry steals a few of those and whips his hair into a dirty bun. Hopefully Louis hasn’t gone and made himself look nice for the day yet, otherwise Harry will feel significantly less confident in his presence.

“Thanks again for letting me stay,” Harry says earnestly to Zayn as he approaches the front door. He crouches down to pet the cat one last time, letting him rub against his leg. 

“My couch is free whenever you need it, but hopefully you _won’t_ need it again,” Zayn smiles softly. He reaches out and pats Harry on the back, casting the scent of fresh aftershave towards Harry. “Good luck.”

Harry bites his lip and scratches his elbow. “Thanks, Zayn. Bye.”

“Bye, Styles,” Zayn waves and the stay comes to its finality when Harry steps out the door and he hears it shut behind him.

As it goes, Harry walks the short distance to Louis' flat, anxiety building with every long stride he takes. The air outside is cool for late August and the sun is only slightly peering out from behind heavy grey clouds. People bustle about in their casual Sunday clothes, probably on their way to pick up some milk then get back in bed for the day. Harry feels out of place in his blouse and boots and an important destination set ahead. Normally he’s one of the commoners, but today he’s finally getting a taste of what it feels like to be one of the rare people with importance in their step as they maneuver through the busy streets. 

When he finally trudges up the untrusty stairs and arrives at the familiar doorstep, he pulls the spare key Louis gave him from his wallet and jabs it into the door. Having to do the classic kick, jiggle, and push move never gets old. Once it gives, Harry makes his way inside cautiously, soft steps barely making a sound on the floor as to not scare Louis since he’s not expecting Harry’s visit. 

Caution proves unneeded though as he immediately spots Louis sitting out on the fire escape, resting upon the metal floor rather than the set of stairs a few feet away. He hasn’t got a cigarette in his hand or a drawing in his lap which is odd. Harry gets closer and bends to eye him down more carefully. Louis’ skin glows where it's on display under a very low-cut vest, his legs are curvaceous and defined in jeans that would look painted on if not for the holes in the knees. Once again, he's mastered the art of casually sexy and it's killing Harry without Louis' face even being involved yet.

"Hello," Harry says, trying his best not to startle Louis.

Louis doesn’t look over at him.  His head remains locked in the direction of the park. "Hi."

Okay, so he’s not giving Harry the full cold shoulder, but it’s still not the warmest it could be. He’s hesitant to go out to be closer to Louis. Does Louis want to be alone? Should Harry inside and talk to him through the window, or maybe leave completely? He’s starting to panic when Louis speaks up again.

“Do you have something else to say or did you just pop in for a hello?” Louis asks briskly. It’s not much, but it’s as much of an invitation as Harry’s going to get to speak apparently.

“I actually wanted to talk..” Harry starts, but Louis immediately cuts him off.

“And I don’t.” His blue eyes are sharp when they cut over to meet Harry’s. He looks tired too, Harry notes. Light bags under his eyes and dark stubble coating his jawline.

Harry looks up at the sparse park and let’s out a deep sigh. He contemplates his next move before deciding to take the risk to climb out the window. He perches on the metal stairs that face Louis so they’re both in the same place but not the same space.

“Listen, I’m sorry for losing my cool at you and saying some rude things about you. I was just drunk and angry and even though I feel like shit today, I can see how I messed up,” Harry tells him, Louis not meeting his gaze anymore.

“Okay,” Louis responds shortly.

Harry takes a shaky breath and continues. “I know that you’re not insecure, and I regret ever saying you were annoying and stubborn. It wasn’t right to assume anything and lash out before knowing your side of the story and letting you explain yourself better.”

“So I assume you want me to tell you my side of the story now, then?” Louis asks slowly and cold, like he wants to escape the conversation but is bravely staying.

“Yeah, that’d be.. good I guess.”

Cars zoom past below, filling the silence after Harry speaks. Louis diverts his stare to the wide area off the the right of Harry. His eyes lock and he seems like he’s fallen into a trance of deep thought, one that Harry refuses to shake him from, knowing that he deserves all the time he needs to think. After all, Harry _did_ show up spontaneously, leaving him unprepared in this instance. 

“What you said last night about my _‘plan’_ was basically right,” Louis starts with a hint of annoyance. His bent leg sways back and forth as his smooth voice flows. “From the moment I first saw you perform in that bar, I knew you were gonna be something big, Harry. I just had this gut feeling that I couldn’t explain even if I tried. And at the same fucking time, I also knew I had become instantly infatuated with you.”

Harry listens intently, arms folded on his knees and green eyes boring into Louis’ that simply refuse to meet his. Hearing Louis speak so deep and true makes his stomach twist. It’s so rare to have Louis be serious and it’s happened twice in the past twenty-four hours. There’s no telling what else could come from his mouth while the situation is still so tense. 

“In my mind, I reasoned that since me and Ed stayed good friends while his girlfriends came and went, maybe it'd be safer to stay friends with you too and be nothing more.” Louis smiles and shakes his head but it’s not as if he’s nostalgic about something happy. It’s more like he’s shaming himself or embarrassed. “But of course, I couldn’t resist your beautiful self and that’s where I started to fuck it all up. I tried to make us friends with benefits. And I didn't realize how much more confusing that could make things until last night when you confronted me about it and called my bullshit. It was really selfish of me to do and I'm sorry, Harry. I really am.”

Harry is stunned to silence. Never did he think Louis would have such words to say to him _about_ him. There’s not a single thought in Harry’s head to sum up how bad Harry feels for blowing up at Louis. He really did have the best intentions and didn’t mean to hurt Harry by constantly reassuring their friendship. All Louis wanted was to keep Harry around. It brings back the night where Louis let his fear of being forgotten slip.

Harry pushes himself off the step and drops down right beside Louis. With a gentle hand, he turns Louis’ head around to face him and lets his fingers rest on his scratchy right cheek. Louis looks so broken. Not in a heartbroken, sad sort of way, but a more literal sense. He doesn’t look like the properly functioning Louis that Harry’s come to know. Instead he looks deflated and quiet and, all around, broken. Harry won’t stand for it.

“Don't say you're sorry, you have no reason to be,” Harry says, more to himself than the boy under his touch. “I should be the one apologizing for assuming your feelings and coming at you instead of having a levelheaded conversation.”

"Stop," Louis laughs humorlessly. "I know I fucked up. I know I probably made you feel bad when I kept saying I just wanted to be friends."

"But you don't have to be sorry about an innocent lack of judgement," Harry confirms. 

Louis looks like he’s about to open his mouth to say something else, but in a swift movement, Harry captures the words before they can leave his tongue. He meets Louis’ lips in a tender kiss- not chaste, not heated. Perfect.

Harry rubs his thumb over Louis cheekbone as Louis lays his palm flat against Harry’s chest. There's something unspoken forming between them. All of the confusion and mixed up emotions and long lost conversations are coming back, filling the space. It feels like everything is finally falling into place in a way that makes sense. Fear fades away, worry washes along with it, and in their places remain confidence and happiness in all that’s soon to come.

“If you want to give us a chance, I swear I won’t let anything come between us. I don’t care what’s happened to other people. No shitty rumors or wannabe groupies or any of that popularity mess could ruin what we make,” Harry says once they part. “And if something bad did happen, I don’t think the bad feelings could ever reside for long. As long as we _talk_ and _tell each other what we’re feeling_ , I know we’d be alright.” He puts emphasis on purpose and Louis catches it, rolling his eyes and smiling. 

“Alright, calm down with those subtle jabs,” Louis laughs. “But yeah. I- I think we can do this. Just.. can we maybe start fresh? Not, like, as friends or anything, but can we build up to proper labels and everything? Maybe?”

“Of course, Lou, whatever you need. I don’t want to rush this either because that’s when things start going wrong,” Harry says then cocks his head. “Well, in our case I think we were going too _slow_ , but that doesn’t matter. We’re new people. We’ve learned from our mistakes.”

“It reminds me of your song. What’s it called?”

“ _Back to New_?” Harry offers and Louis nods.

“Yeah. It kinda reminds me of that,” he smiles as the conversation dies out. 

There’s a softness surrounding them and Harry is tentative about what to do with it. Just minutes ago, Louis was in a mode ready to snap Harry’s neck and now he’s smiling and gentle, though not quite as exuberant as usual. Still, there’s a delicacy to this moment.

Harry decides to let them sit in silence for once. Normally they try to say pointless things to avoid the deafening sound of nothing, but right now, it doesn’t feel like the time for that. The cars below are good enough at providing a background to their ment of peace.

Harry sits back against the railing and gently leans into Louis’ side, extending his legs and crossing his ankles. Louis slowly lets his feet slide down so he’s matching Harry’s legs. His stop an inch or so before Harry’s and, well, what reason does Harry have to _not_ be endeared and _not_ take a picture of it. 

Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder as Harry finds the perfect black and white filter for the photo. There are quite a few to choose from but for some reason, something doesn’t feel right. The photo feels too special to be buried under a dull filter simply to match whatever theme he’s got going on his Instagram profile. So, in a spur of the moment decision, Harry decides to post it as is. With beams of sunlight highlighting the difference between Louis’ sneakers and joggers and Harry’s boots and tight jeans. His first colored picture in.. a year.

He captions it _‘HS & LT’ _with a smirk because he knows Louis hates sentimental tidbits like that. Harry loves them though, so it’ll be fun to see Louis’ reaction when he inevitably notices the post.

“Life is boring when you’re hungover and don't have drama going on with anyone,” Louis sighs.

“Drama isn't good anyways. Also, did the guy who constantly claims that he’s immune to hangovers, just admit to being hungover?” Harry teases, leaning his head down against Louis’.

“I’m a pathological liar,” Louis ironically lies. “I get hangovers. I just like to act like I don’t because it makes me seem cool and sometimes actually helps. Like, if I say I’m not hungover, I start to not feel hungover.”

“The placebo effect.”

“Yes, that.”

“So why aren’t you telling yourself that now?” Harry wonders.

Louis let’s out a breathy laugh. “My brain’s been a bit.. _preoccupied_ since last night.”

Harry’s heart aches, still guilty about how he knows he made Louis feel. It felt empowering to say those things in the heat of the moment but now Harry sees how wrong they were. Even after he’s apologized, Harry knows Louis has already taken them to heart. They're thorns in Louis' skin but Harry has no way to get them out.

“Sorry. Again,” Harry frowns, nuzzling his cheek against Louis’ hair that smells of dry shampoo.

“It’s alright,” Louis tells him, drawing circles on Harry’s thigh with his finger. “I’m fine. No worries, happy days.”

Louis won’t admit defeat. Harry knows him. He knows that even if he got a written confession from Louis himself about being upset, he could show it back to him a day later and Louis would still firmly state he’s never felt anything less than wonderful. It’s ridiculous, but Harry respects him not wanting to get into anything.

“Whatever you say,” Harry breathes.

He places a palm over Louis’ swirling finger and it feels so intimate, more than kissing itself. The moment continues to be rare, special, and Harry wishes it never had to end. If he could, he’d sit on a fire escape all day, curled up against Louis, listening to his heart beat as they discuss life and the future. But since he can’t do that, he’ll enjoy it while it lasts, and especially enjoy Louis for all that he’s worth. 

 

☾

 

In honor of having his first festival gig, Louis has convinced Harry to splurge on a new outfit. Harry tried to argue that whatever he has now is good enough because he doesn't want to be seen as something he's not, but Louis wins him over by mentioning that Harry could get some new boots. Now, he didn't say _what_ kind of boots exactly, so-

"You are _not_ getting golden platforms," Louis commands as Harry studies himself in a mirror.

"And who are you to tell me what I can or can't wear?" Harry retorts with the tinge of dominance he feels comfortable using with Louis.

"I'm your b-" and Louis cuts off abruptly, shuffling from one foot to the other. "I'm someone who cares deeply about you and doesn't want you to have your first big break and break your ankle simultaneously. Besides, they look like they're from the seventies."

"These aren't seventies shoes, you fashion abomination. Those would be gogo boots, and my taste sadly isn't that eclectic," Harry sighs, meeting Louis' eye in the tall mirror.

"Excuse you. How am I a fashion abomination? Have you not seen the looks I can make with some cheap sweatpants and a jumper? I’ve got a knack, I tell you, true skill. So you can kindly fuck off," Louis says defensively, waving his hand around and jabbing his finger in Harry's direction.

They're probably causing a scene in the small thrift shop but it's well worth it. After just that one day of silence between them, Harry feels the need to make up for every lost second with some sort of friendly conversation or banter. Seeing Louis' eyes squint as he holds down a grin is the best remedy for stress or worries that one can get.

"Whatever you say. But I'm still getting these," Harry says as he sits on the floor to remove the boots.

Harry doesn't even have to look up to know that Louis rolls his eyes. He then probably draws his thumb between his teeth and starts biting on the already short nail, the bad habit coming up whenever he has nothing more to say. With the shoes in his hands, Harry stands up and nudges his shoulder into Louis' arm to stop the action that he had predicted. Louis just freezes and looks at him with doe eyes for a second then drops his hand, shrugging as if to say _what can you do?_

Harry figures there's nothing more he's going to find in the place so he heads up to the register to check out. Louis trails closely behind, his arms crossed. The girl behind the counter is no older than either of them, her bleached white hair pinned up on her head. She smiles as she scans the tag on the glimmering pair of boots.

"I was hoping someone good would buy these," she comments, looking Harry down. "I was going to get them myself but they weren't in my size. I'm sure you'll wear them _far_ better than I ever could though."

"I'm wearing them to Leeds next weekend actually, so I'll probably destroy them, sorry," he laughs, handing over his card.

"Oh no!" She gasps, stuffing the shoes in a black bag. "Don't be too rough on them, alright? Have fun, but make sure these babes turn out alright."

"Will do, no worries," Harry smiles. 

"Alright, I'll take your word for it." She smiles nicely back at him and hands over the shoes and card. "Thank you for stopping by, have a great day and a great time at the fest!"

"Thank you, have a lovely day," he returns, nodding at her and heading to leave the store. 

When he pushes open the door and steps out into the warmth of summer, he turns to ask Louis where they're going next. Instead of the small boy standing next to him, he's met with an empty bench pressed against the front window. His face contorts in confusion and he look back at the door, seeing if Louis is on his way. When he doesn't see him through the glass, Harry starts to head back in the store, but as soon as he reaches out to push the door open, Louis is already pulling it and stepping out.

"Sorry, got in a bit of a daze back there," Louis explains with a laugh. His hair falls to his eyes because of the wind making him squint in a way that gets to Harry. Hits him deep down.

"Mhm.." Harry hums, staring Louis down in an attempt to get him to crack. He knows Louis is lying but he just doesn't know what he's lying about.

Louis smiles innocently and steps forward. He grabs Harry's free hand and twines their fingers together, giving a soft, reassuring squeeze. The jolt the simple action sends to Harry's heart is ridiculous. Louis' hand is soft and burning in his, a bit like he's holding actual sunlight.

"Let's go over to the shopping centre and find me something to wear now," Louis says lightly. 

Their fingers lace together like silk knots. Harry is afraid that if he tugs too hard, the bind will loosen and fall, so he holds just tight enough as they walk to make sure their steps are in time. People are probably looking at them as they cross the main road in the wrong place and it’s empowering. Harry wants to make sure he's showing Louis off for all he’s worth. 

Once they’re inside, Louis heads straight for Topman, bypassing even the Adidas store. Their hands stay connected, much to some shoppers’ dismay. Louis drags Harry around racks and racks of sale items, twisting and turning, bumping into people every which way. Harry just quietly laughs and apologizes to the people stood in the demolition path of a shopping Louis Tomlinson.

“Christ, they’ve got nothing good in my size," Louis grumbles, angrily lifting shirt tags before letting them fall with dismay.

The reminder that he's a size small amuses Harry's medium-to-large-sized self. He faintly wonders if there'd have been a time years ago where Louis would've been bigger than him. Funny, that. Imagine Louis being able to pick him up. Holding him against a wall, pinning him to the bed.. All things that Harry could easily do to him now.

_Fuck._

Heat spreads through him and he instantly fears that Louis will know all of his thoughts through the simple touch of their hands. They're supposed to be taking things at a decent pace this time round. Desperately longing to sleep with Louis can't possibly be in the agenda just yet. It's not like Harry hasn't crossed the line before, of course– he still regrets the shower incident– but he's trying to learn from those past mistakes. In desperation, he diverts attention to the upbeat music playing from above, slowly restoring innocence to his filthy mind.

As time goes on, Harry offers fashion advice when it feels necessary. Such necessary moments include Louis lifting a grey graphic tee to his torso. Louis frowns when Harry tells him he can’t buy something he already has thirty different version of. It makes way for a comeback about Harry’s unreasonable need for multiple pairs of ankle boots, but Harry brushes it away knowing full and well that Louis is just in denial about the lack of diversity in his wardrobe.

At some point, they lose their connection. Physical connection, that is. 

When Louis goes to shuffle through a stack of shorts, he gives Harry an apologetic look before wiggling his hand out of the lock. As soon as the air hits his palm, Harry feels like a part of him is missing. _Man, he's in deep._

"Oh, shit," Louis states, holding a pair of blue shorts in front of him. The instant Harry's eyes make contact with the garment, a dimpled grin creeps across his face.

"You've got to get them," Harry tells him. "No excuses. They're incredible."

Louis has a stagnant astonished expression. "These would barely cover me pants!"

It's true. Obviously when Louis first caught sight of these, he thought they were the typical length he wears that drops all the way to his knees. These, though.. they're slightly left of that standard. The material only extends about a foot lengthwise, meaning that if he put them on, they would stop just above mid thigh.

"All the cool guys wear these. Especially in America, I think," Harry adds, not letting the image of Louis in the shorts fabricate completely. "May as well embrace popular fashion trends while you're going to be at one of the best trendy-young-adult gatherings of the year."

"The thing is, Harry, I'm _not_ a trendy young adult, nor do I have any desire to be." Louis carefully places the item back onto the pile of its identical counterparts.

"Come on, you can't wear black skinny jeans and joggers for the rest of your life." After Harry says it, he already knows what the response will be.

Louis challenges him of course, with a biting, "Watch me."

"I don't want to watch you be boring forever just to prove your point," Harry sighs, eager to use whatever tactics needed to get Louis to purchase the shorts at the very least. "It'd be much more entertaining if you spiced things up. Say, with a pair of those shorts."

"Why don't you wear them then if you're so keen, eh?" Louis' eyebrow raises and his top lip snarls. Refraining from pouncing on Louis and kissing the cocky look off his face proves difficult, but Harry manages.

"Says the guy who tried to steer me away from my golden boots so that I'd make a good first impression on the public." Harry says, sidestepping for an innocent bystander trying to reach between them for some trousers himself.

" _Platform_ golden boots. They're at least three notches higher on the excitement scale than some short trousers," Louis scoffs. "Besides, you've actually got the legs for them. As for me.. not so much."

Harry blinks. If this were a cartoon, you'd be able to hear the _plink_ when his eyelashes collide. "Please tell me you're not trying to say what I think you're saying."

"What? That I haven't got good legs?" Louis asks. He kicks his clothes leg then looks down at it. "It's a fact– I haven't."

Now, this is the point where Harry should give up the losing battle. Instead, he valiantly whips the shorts off the table and books over to an empty register, his wallet in his hands before Louis can snatch it from his back pocket. To Harry's surprise, Louis stands silently in his shadow. His arms are crossed and he's giving Harry a glare for the record books. Receipt and bag in hand, Harry smiles at the unamused Louis.

"Stop looking so angry with me," Harry whines as they head out the store. The shopping centre is bright from the streaks of orange pouring through the skylights. Cinnamon and fast food scents linger from the nearby food court. "I'm doing the world a favor."

This cracks Louis enough for a grin. "I may not be tall, but I do have toned thigh and calf muscles, don't I?"

"Glad you've seen the light," Harry smiles brightly, swinging the bag into Louis' thigh. He then encompasses Louis' hand with his own, satisfied with his success of the day, no matter how small. Any time he makes Louis smile is a success in his book. Getting to be connected in the sweetest, most innocent way is just the cherry on top.

 

☾

 

 

A few days later, with three days to go until Leeds Fest, Harry stumbles through the front door after a late gig. It’s nearing half past one and his eyes burn from the raging tiredness consuming his body. With the sporadic popularity he’s gained through Ed and the festival gig announcement came the flood of extra eyes on him at local shows. Normally when he plays at the bar he was at tonight, there are only people who’ve coincidentally shown up on the right date for some live entertainment. This time, there were guys and girls alike sitting near the stage, mouthing along to the choruses of a few songs. The empowerment that coursed through his veins the second he noticed it is indescribable. For the first time in his absurd music career, he’s had - dare he say- _fans_ eagerly listening to his performance.

Even after the prompted encore, as Harry was still trying to convince himself that he got lucky, a couple of people approached him asking for pictures. There was initial shock, but he took the photos and chatted with the people as casually as any other experienced musician. He felt and still feels so incredibly proud of himself, but the desire to sleep had him saying gravelly goodbyes only a few minutes later with the sincerest smiles he could conjure up.

Boots now kicked off and guitar placed against the wall, Harry stretches with a low groan. He dots his eyes around before landing on the maroon lump that is Louis on the floor in front of the tv.

All Harry can see is the large blanket thrown over his shoulders, engulfing his body, and the mess of dark hair pinned back with a headband. Only one lamp is turned on to create a dim, peaceful setting in the room. Low indie music completes the Louis-esque atmosphere. Harry loves coming home ( _wow, it feels good to say that)_ to this, especially when Louis is drawing in some odd place whether it be the kitchen counter or an empty bathtub. 

Harry sits down and folds himself over Louis’ arched back. He moulds his body to fit perfectly, arms wrapping around Louis’ front loosely. 

“Hello, Haz,” Louis says aerily.

"Mm, hello," Harry sighs contently, He hooks his chin over Louis' shoulder and peers down at what he's working on. "What's this then?"

On the large white sheet, there are lots of stars and cool colors swirled around two stick figures. The figures are holding stick hands, one with short, straight hair and the other with long, wavy locks. Harry instantly smiles. 

“It’s us,” Louis says, “in outer space I think. I’m not sure what happened. I got bored watching a documentary about the galaxy, then started painting a galaxy, and then there was us.”

“It’s very cute,” Harry mumbles, leaning his head onto Louis’. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Louis snorts. He sets his brush down on the edge of the sheet. “It looks like something a five year old would draw.”

“Hey, don’t put yourself down. I like it a lot,” Harry protests, hugging Louis tighter and feeling him squirm in the hold.

“Harry, it’s a _doodle_ , please don’t try to convince me that it belongs in the Louvre.”

“But it does. Imagine Lou in the Louvre.” The idea itself, minus the pun, is laughable and they both know it. Honestly, Harry is surprised Louis even knows what the Louvre is considering how he’s the only artist in existence that can’t stand to learn about art.

"You say so much dumb shit," Louis laughs, reaching up to pet Harry's curls. "It's incredibly endearing."

Harry smiles and nuzzles into the touch contently. In a matter of seconds he feels half asleep, his body becoming as heavy as his eyelids. Louis must pick up on it because he keeps moving his hand, quietly snuffling in amusement. 

"Tired?" He asks and Harry just groans. "Alright, well get off me then. Let me clean up the galaxy so we can sleep."

So Harry reluctantly picks himself up and flops down on the couch, head scrunched awkwardly and one arm hanging off the edge. He listens to the shuffling of Louis moving the wet paper and placing paint brushes and pencils back into their respective cups. Whatever song that's on now has a slow steady rhythm and only the backing of a guitar. It serves to send another rush of anxiety through Harry about the fact that he's playing at a music festival this weekend with only his guitar and his heart to entertain hundreds.

It's still insane to think about. He'll go busking a few times, maybe drag Louis or Niall out for lunch, then it'll be time to pack up his golden boots and head out. This could be the last normal moments he has before his big break, whether he become famous off of sheer talent or a shocking embarrassing moment on stage. That's the thing— he doesn't know. There are so many opportunities approaching and there's no way of deciphering the ones will fabricate from the ones that will remain in the realm of dreams or nightmares.

He hears Louis approach and expects a blanket and goodnight to be thrown his way. Instead, Louis pats his shoulder.

"C'mon, do you want to sleep on this lumpy sofa or in my luxurious bed?" Louis asks, but surely Harry didn't hear it right. They haven't slept together since the night of the raging storm outside and in their chests. What reason does Louis have to suddenly let such intimacy arise again?

"Really?" Harry picks himself and tilts his head up to gaze at Louis.

Sunken cheekbones and hooded lids give way to the fact that Louis is just as exhausted as him. Maybe it's just a sleeping tactic. Having someone near him will help him get a better rest and that's it. Sure, that's reasonable. Harry will just keep telling himself that.

"I don't see why not.." Louis responds tentatively. His low-cut, oversized shirt exposes his deep collarbones when he scratches the back of his head. Despite his awkward body language, he seems quite serious about the proposition.

"Okay," Harry smiles softly.

When they climb into bed, Harry instantly retains a feeling of safety and familiarity. It not only stems from the familiar bed, but Louis himself. With their legs brushing and faces inches apart, Harry feels protected by an invisible force field created solely by the strength of Louis' ambiance. He's a powerful being, Louis is, but he's also one of the gentlest. A bittersweet contrast that Harry can't seem to get enough of.

With the way they're laying, Harry's back is being illuminated by the moonlight and Louis falls under the dark shadows it casts. This makes it difficult to read his expression, but not impossible to catch the way his eyes are locked on Harry's lips. 

“Can we be boyfriends yet?” Harry asks, mustering up the last bit of speech he has before he's knocked out.

Louis seems to snap from a trance. He quickly looks up and clears his throat. “I would say yes, but we haven’t even been on a date yet.”

“Well that's rubbish," Harry mumbles. "Can Leeds count as a date?”

Louis seriously considers this for a moment. He drags out his pondering hum for the sake of spiking Harry's anxiety. “Only if you treat me right.”

“I'll treat you like a prince. Buy you as many drinks and hot dogs as your heart desires," Harry says in a dreamy tone, patting Louis' heart blindly.

"That'll make for a romantic time I'm sure," Louis boasts sarcastically. "Just remember you'll be the one sharing a tent with me at night."

"I'm sure I'll be alright." 

They laugh to mask what they’re really thinking: this is the first time they’ve slept together since the _“friends can sleep in the same bed, right?”_ incident. And this time, there’s no conflict of emotions. They’re friends, but there’s more to it than that, and they both know it. There’s joy and admiration and infatuation under the sheets with them. 

“I’m glad you called me out for being a jealous shit, because otherwise, it could’ve taken a millennium for this to happen,” Louis tells him, throat raspy. “Thank God for Nick being an insufferable asshole.”

“Heyy, he’s not an asshole,” Harry defends. “He didn’t know you were hopelessly pining over me."

"Eh, I'll still beat 'im up next time we meet," Louis threatens. It's empty, though. Louis' threats always are.

In the short moment of silence that falls between them, Harry's drowsiness takes over. His eyes fall shut on their own accord and if he feels thin fingers twirling his curls, only he has to know.

 

☾

 

The next few days pass in an anxious blur. Before Harry knows it, he's gone from waking up in bed with his limbs tangled up in Louis' to groggily pulling himself from a nap, sun smacking his face through the windshield of the car. They're on their way to Leeds, finally, after what's felt like years of waiting. Niall, Zayn, and Liam are cramped in the back, tagging along for a lads weekend, while Harry and Louis share the moderately comfortable front seats. 

Somewhere around hour two of the ride, Harry passed out. The radio sing-a-longs got the best of him.

Now awake, he checks the clock on the dash to find they still have a good hour and a half before they make it to the festival grounds. Harry rubs his eyes then arches his hips forward, successfully popping his back and letting Louis know he's alive.

Louis lets one hand fall from the steering wheel to Harry's thigh. His eyes are solid silver, his smile a beacon of hope for the coming weekend. "Morning, starshine. All you boys left me to entertain meself for a while there."

Harry eyes the huddle of sleeping figures behind them. Zayn's stuck between Liam and Niall with his head craned backwards on the headrest. His shoulders serve as pillows for the blonde and brunette, and comfy ones at that. All three of them are knocked out with their jaws hanging half open.

"Sorry. Car rides make me drowsy," Harry apologizes. The heat where Louis' palm lay burns the skin a layer beneath.

"Same here, but you don't see me dozing off. As my passenger and co-pilot in this journey, I put my faith in you that you'd actually _attempt_ to keep me entertained," Louis tuts. "May have to demote you from your position, Styles."

"Oh sod off. I'm here for your personal amusement for the next two days." Harry rolls his eyes and smiles at the blurred grassy scenery outside.

"You are. And you're going to get us VIP treatment and everything, right?"

"Not sure what that entails, but I can probably get us some free food or something," Harry shrugs.

"That's all we're here for anyways. You were just our way in," Louis smirks, patting Harry's thigh. "Who needs a pop star when you can have pop corn?"

"Legendary. A quote for the ages," Harry deadpans. 

He turns up the radio and let's it flood the car. Road trips always bring Harry a sense of relaxation and homeliness. Something about being in the same spot yet having the entire world change around you fascinates him. The way light dances around every solid object and the way shadows shift places constantly are hypnotizing, though not nearly as entrancing as the boy beside him.

In no time they'll be at Leeds ready to take it on together with the help of Harry's new best friends. But right now, they lie in the calm before the storm. The last bit of sanity before what could possibly be the greatest weekend of his life. 

He's never been so ready.

 

☾

 

There's paint all over his hands and a beautiful boy between them. His skin glows in bright orange and pink streaks where they rest atop Louis' thin vest. Louis' hips are swaying to the beat of a song by Glass Animals, though neither of them can decipher what lyrics are being said.

So far, the night's been a chaotic blur. Harry's had a few random drinks from a few random stands and at some point he decided to let Louis put dots on his face using paint he borrowed from a group of stoners. Their faces have been glowing brightly for the past couple of hours as they drag each other from stage to stage, happily clinging to each other in a hazy, drunken form of love.

"Where are the lads?" Louis suddenly asks, voice competing against the loud music but easily winning. He spins around completely in Harry's arms now. His blue eyes are glossy but full of life.

Focusing back on the question at hand, Harry glances around. In the crowd of people around them, none of them stand out as familiar faces. He knows that Niall, Liam and Zayn were with them at the last stage, so maybe Harry and Louis left without announcement. Oh, yeah, he does remember that now. Louis dragging him away with a cheerful grin before either of them could inform anyone of their departure.

Oops.

"I think we left them," Harry responds. Louis' face looks concerned for all of two seconds before he starts laughing, one of his pink dots disappearing in his eye crinkles.

"They'll be fine," Louis assures Harry as if he was worried in the first place. "All I need is you right now anyways."

It's the smallest statement but it inflates Harry's heart ten times. He ducks forward and captures Louis' grin between his lips. He tastes like alcohol and starlight, an intoxicating combination stronger than what the finest mixer could produce. With his fingers still gripping Louis' slim waist, Harry brings him in closer, indulging this kiss of the century. 

Someone harshly jostles Harry to the side a moment later, nearly making him fall over, breaking the kiss all too quickly. He's not sure if it was an accident or on purpose, but the way the guy and his friends snicker, he would go with the latter. Either way, Louis is quick to glare and flip them off before taking a few steps away from them.

"Even when I'm drunk I don't have patience for people like that," he tells Harry in an accent that's progressively getting more northern.

"They're not worth getting upset over," Harry soothes. He can't help but feel some hypocritical resentment towards them though when he looks over to see them staring at him and Louis with discontent.

"You're right," Louis nods. He backs into Harry's chest, tugging Harry's arms so that they wrap around his front. "I've got the pop star and what have they got? Ugly mugs and personalities to match."

Harry laughs and let's Louis tangle himself within his arms. He can feel the stickiness of Louis' skin, knows that they're both glistening with sweat along with paint. The night sky is a reflection of the wonders happening right there. Each star represents synchronized beat of their hearts. 

“I’m not a pop star. Never will be, most likely,” Harry adds.

Louis messes with Harry’s fingers and his wrists. “Retro, indie alt-rock star. Is that more fitting, hm? I have to give you proper indie credit for your talent?”

“You make me sound pretentious,” Harry groans. “All I meant is that I’m not going to get to that _level_ , no matter what genre my music is.”

“So pessimistic, young Harold.” Louis’ head tilts back to rest on Harry’s shoulder. His mouth is so close to Harry’s neck. He can feel his short puffs of breath, the heat sending a shiver down Harry’s spine.

“Yeah, well, you must be rubbing off on me,” Harry teases fondly. His blissful smile is quickly dropped though as soon as he feels the first brush of lips on his neck.

Louis has dropped Harry’s arms and turned his body sideways, adjusting himself so that he has open access to Harry’s neck yet still leans heavily on his chest. Harry’s breath hitches. Slowly, the harmless kiss turns into a venomous bite. The subtle sting makes Harry shift in uncomfortable pleasure. He’s never had to deal with this kind of public display of affection before and he isn’t ready for his first time to include public arousal also.

“Lou..” Harry groans when Louis sucks on the spot he’s been leisurely tasting.

Obviously there’s no response. If anything, Harry’s warning only spurs Louis on, seeing as he suddenly licks a stripe up Harry’s neck then nips just below his ear. The music suddenly seems lost in the atmosphere. The sea of people disappears into nothing more than an illusion and it’s just the two of them, the planets revolving around their bodies, as the universe always should be.

Soon enough Louis gets tired of terrorizing the sweetest spot on Harry’s body. Thankfully, too, because it was getting a little much. There are going to be at least two dark marks tainting his skin by tomorrow morning, but he’ll proudly show them off. If the devilish grin Louis sends him is anything to go by, Harry would be rude as to not display them for all the world to see.

“D’you think those pricks saw that?” Louis asks him confidently. “I hope they did. I hope the image is burned into their minds and they wank over it during their group orgy tonight.”

"Too much detail there," Harry grimaces.

"You love it," Louis says flippantly.

_Yeah, and I think I may love_ you _too_. "Or-rrr do I-iiiiiii!"

"Of course you do, Styles. You love everything I do." Louis' eyes pierce through Harry and he's certain that Louis can read every thought about love that's running through his mind. Instead of panicking, he smiles cheekily in agreement to the statement and resumes clumsily dancing with Louis in his arms. 

They watch the rest of the set then head off to find their friends again before the night gets too old and they're lost in the darkness forever. Louis texts Zayn and drags Harry around the fields, aimlessly searching for the location. He always seems to be in the lead, Harry notices. It's always him being dragged around by the smaller boy, never the other way around. He frowns but trails Louis' quick steps nonetheless.

Through scattered groups of bodies, they eventually come across a large tent seeping light and loud noise. Louis announces that this is where the lads should be before he steps straight into the midst of the madness. 

All around, there are glow sticks and strobe lights flickering to the fast beat of a remixed song. Everyone is dancing together and it's much less like the mobs at the stages and more like a crowded club on a Saturday night. Harry locks Louis' hand in his with no reaction from Louis. He seems too preoccupied with finding their friends to bother giving Harry any attention.

"Oi! Zed's on the big table!" Louis exclaims in a sudden excited tone. He points upwards and out towards an elevated platform where speakers, a mixing booth, and Zayn reside. 

They make it over to him after weaseling through the thick crowd. Harry is sticky with sweat, the feeling only amplified now that they're in an enclosed space. All he'd like to do is take a cool shower and lie down, but sadly he'll have to get through– what's hopefully– the last part of the night.

"Zaynooo!" Louis yells as he releases Harry's hand on the steps to cling onto Zayn. 

"Tommo, glad you found us again! Thought we'd lost both of you for the night," Zayn replies with a sly grin, catching Harry's eye over Louis' shoulder. 

He's got his headphones wrapped around his neck and a fire in his eyes that's entirely new. This is obviously his environment, this is where he thrives. Being out on the floor isn't his forte from what Harry's seen, but now he's more than alright with being above everything and getting to escape with his own form of expression.

"Nah, we couldn't make it without our boys," Louis smiles with small eyes. "So where's the _"us"_ anyway? Are the other two around? Retired already?"

"Well, Liam has, but Niall's still out there somewhere, making new friends, getting high, or who knows what else," Zayn shrugs. "We won't see him til the morning but I guarantee he'll have some love bites bigger than the ones on Harry's neck there."

Harry flushes, but hopefully it's not too noticeable in the warm lighting. How did Zayn even see them? Are they really _that_ obvious? Maybe he'll have to buy some concealer for Sunday after all if Louis keeps this trend up.

"Aren't they nice?" Louis asks, hooking Zayn's neck with his elbow and looking over at Harry's exposed, bruised skin. "Did 'em myself to excite some homophobic pricks. I told Harry they'd probably get off the the image tonight and to be quite honest, I think I might too."

"As long as you stay in your own tent I could care less about your sexual escapades." Zayn rolls his eyes at a smug Louis then goes back to messing around on the laptop in front of him, prompting a new song for the party-goers to grind to.

It doesn't take long for Louis to convince Zayn to let him take over. While they mess around with the music and laugh and exchange abusive banter, Harry decides this would be a good time to reside to a corner. Metaphorically and literally, he finds himself sitting in a corner at the back of the little DJ area. He gives a last look to Louis then whips his phone out, squinting hard as the screen reflects the deep purple light shining above him.

One A.M. Not even near his usual bed time yet. Somehow, though, he’s still exhausted. He knows tomorrow is going to be just as long of a day, if not longer, and if he doesn’t get some semblance of sleep tonight there’s no way he’ll pull through to this time tomorrow night. To busy himself, he updates his social medias about the festival so far. Night one: Instagram post of a blurry stage with flashing lights, vague tweet to satisfy the few followers who care. Good progress. 

By the time that’s done, it’s been five minutes.

After stretching his limbs and releasing a long breath, Harry heads back over to the two idiots playing mash ups of Ed and Justin Bieber. They’re all over each other like kittens with katnip. Louis is bouncing around, finger pointing at every odd beat while Zayn cackles at him, trying to control the songs from getting too off track. 

“You two are giving David Guetta a run for his money,” Harry announces. They smile at him.

“DJ Tommo and DJ Malik! We’re up in here, doing this shit, being the best _at_ this shit!” Louis yells.

“You’re literally an artist,” Harry deadpans.

Louis continues smiling at him. “I _am_ an artist. Thank you for recognizing my incredible mixing talent!”

Really, it only goes downhill from there. 

By the time all three of them are leaving the makeshift club, it’s near three and Louis and Zayn have finally gotten the last of their energy out. It only took a bit of dancing, a few more drinks, and a multitude of crudely combined songs. Now all they can do is mumble and quietly giggle to each other in hushed tones. Louis is tucked in Harry’s side but he still manages to ignore him and only focus on his other friend. Harry would be offended if it were anyone other than Zayn. But since it is Zayn and he likes Zayn, he allows Louis to continue on with his post-party excitement that includes being oblivious to Harry’s existence.

There are hundreds of tents in the field making it difficult to navigate the path back to their three. They find them eventually though. Two red and a single blue, one occupied by a sleeping Liam already. Louis does the honors of checking which one Liam is in by unzipping climbing into them all. The groan and string of curses that follow his venture into the second red tent serve to show where Liam is.

“Have fun with that, Zayn. He tried to punch me,” Louis says with a huff as he pops back out.

“That’s because you climbed on top of him and deserved it,” Zayn retorts as he climbs through the flap. “Goodnight lads.”

“Night Zaynie.”

“G’night man.”

Then there were two.

Harry stumbles into the tent first with Louis zipping it up behind him. They rip off their tight jeans and climb into their makeshift bed; two closed sleeping bags with a few blankets thrown on top. It’s not even cold, but they instantly curl up together atop the padding, sharing heat in the small space with nothing but the distant sounds of laughter filling the air. 

“We killed it tonight,” Louis whispers in Harry’s ear like some forbidden secret.

“ _You_ killed it, meanwhile _it_ killed _me_ ,” Harry whispers back with a lazy smile. He turns his head and suddenly their faces are an inch apart.

“Just wait til tomorrow. I’m gonna be full of energy again and you’ll be risen from your grave,” Louis jokes. “And maybe if we’re lucky, it’ll rain so we can get the full Leeds experience.”

“If that happens you should be thankful I got us the VIP experience. We’ve got nice, warm, private showers ready to clean us at the end of the day."

“Maybe I like being dirty,” Louis teases, blinking slowly.

"Oh, I'm sure you do," Harry grins.

Their lips meet in a tired collision. Loose and languid, they lick into each other's mouths, tasting nothing worth the while. It doesn't even begin to get heated before Louis pulls back and sighs.

"Too tired to get turned on," he whines. Harry feels his pain in the absence of blood rushing to his lower region.

"Sleep then." Harry pets his hair, noting the dry strands clumped together with long forgotten hair gel.

"I'll try," he resolves. With a twist and a turn, he hooks a leg over Harry's own and an arm over his chest. "Goodnight, my star."

Pet names are Harry's weakness. His heart pulses with what can easily be identified as love, and he can do nothing but smile in quiet awareness. 

"Bonne nuit, mon petit ami," Harry whispers, not sure if Louis can translate it or not, but also not really caring. 

All falls still. They're taken over by a rush of exhaustion, limbs becoming heavy as their breaths become slower. Just before Harry is fully submerged in a sleep trance, when he's certain he's off the hook, he hears one last statement. It's barely spoken loud enough to be heard over the defeating silence.

" _Enfin_."

 

☾

 

"Styles, Tomlinson, time for day two of The City Boys Take Leeds!"

"Fuck off, Niall," Louis groans into his pillow, speaking for Harry and himself.

"No, no, no. It's nearly noon and you two are still cuddled up in here. The day has already begun for everyone else! People are already smoking and drinking, queued up at the front of the main stage. Doesn't that make you feel like you're slacking?" Niall asks them in a motivational tone that's doing nothing to soothe their annoyance at being uninvitingly awoken.

Harry opens his eyes when he feels a mystery weight lift from his stomach. It must've been Louis' arm, seeing as he's now rolling over into his back and holding a hand over his eyes to block the light.

"You've got ten seconds to step away from the tent," he warns deeply.

Niall throw his hands up. "Alright, chill. Just hurry up and get out here already. This is a lads weekend not a Harry and Louis Sleepathon." 

_"This isn'a Harreh and Loueh sleepathon,"_ Louis mocks in a high pitched Irish accent as soon as Niall zips the flap shut. "The fuck kind of quip is that? A terrible one. I need more sleep after hearing that just to get it out of my mind."

"Calm down," Harry groans in a stretch. He huffs as his back falls back to the floor. "Leave the poor guy alone. It's not his fault he doesn't have the.. the, uh.. doesn't have your brain."

Louis looks at Harry with a single cocked brow and laughs. "You sure you're ready to get up and start the day?"

Harry shakes his head, grinning. "No. I see your point now." 

The colors in the tent are muted and pleasing. Their skin is pale, the sheets are grey, and the flush of Louis' cheeks seems peachy rather than rosy. Two things that still manage to stand out amongst the sea of dimness are his eyes. They're stunning silver as they peer at Harry, a natural rose gold tint on his hooded eyelids. 

Harry is getting too poetic due to the dreamy state he's still stuck in, but he thinks that even if it were four in the afternoon on the brightest summer day, he would still be just as entranced as he is now. Louis is a beautiful creature, a force to be reckoned with. All Harry wants to do is write pages of lyrics about his powerful grace.

"You alright, star shine?" Louis has taken to calling Harry a variety of names relating to stars now. Apparently it's going to become a thing and Harry can't deny that he's one hundred percent on board with it.

"Just admiring your beauty, my flower," Harry replies easily.

Louis smirks then lays back down, curling into Harry's side again. He hooks his head to press their lips together and with his fingers slowly knitting in Harry's hair, he whispers,

"That's not what you called me last night."

Heart stopping, eyes opening, Harry tries to remember last night. _What did he say, what did he say?_ Before they went to sleep, he said– _oh,_ of course. _Mon petit ami._

"So you heard that?" Harry asks against Louis' lips. 

_"_ Peut-être," Louis hums teasingly. "I guess you'll find out eventually, _boyfriend._ "

After what feels like centuries of being caught in a spell, Harry wills himself to get up, dragging Louis along with him to the luxury bathrooms. The trek is heinous on their tired bodies, although they do need to get ready for another day of walking. They fall into one of the rooms and lock the door behind them, throwing their clothes on the counter.

It's not too shabby for being stuck in the middle of grassy fields. There are dark green tiles on the floor, a large mirror spread along one wall, and vases of flowers scattered in various spots. Harry meets Louis' eye in the mirror.

"You going first or me?" He asks, gesturing towards the shower.

"I guess I'll do the honors of checking how good the water pressure and temperature are," Louis concedes, tangling his fingers in Harry's curls. "Wouldn't want those luscious locks stuck under a cold, dripping stream rather than a warm, pressurized waterfall."

Harry mock laughs and gives into a grin when Louis bumps his shoulder on his way to the glass door. Steam fills the room soon enough and Harry hops onto the counter, ready to wait his turn as the sticky condensation builds on his skin. He becomes encompassed in his phone only to have his attention ripped away seconds later.

With no warning, Louis strips off yesterday's clothes. They fall in a pile at his feet, leaving his bare body on display. Harry looks up the tiniest bit to find that Louis is turned away from him. It's a blessing that he gets a clear view of his tan thighs, curved back, and above all else, his perky bum. 

Harry shifts when he feels an interested twitch in his pants. He quickly tries to focus back in on his phone screen, only relaxing once he hears the shower door shut and the sound of water hitting a figure.

There's no way he's going to last the day with _that_ image burned into the back of his eyelids. It's just _there_ now, a picture that flashes back every time he tries to shut his eyes to escape it. As much as he hates it, Harry eventually lets himself indulge in the picture. He hasn't got the strength to ignore it. Part of him knows what's going to have to happen tonight in either here or a porta-potty anyways, so that's also the part that decides, _hey. May as well enjoy it while it lasts._

To make matters worse, Louis pulls on the short-shorts Harry bought for him a few days ago. They stop mid-thigh, exposing a canvas of tan skin that has Harry's heart stuttering each time he takes a step. Rather than a fantasy, there suddenly is a tangible drive and desire inside of him, riding towards sleeping with Louis. All there's ever been were some frantic wanks to the distant image or hazy dreams where their bodies were blurred around the edges. Suddenly there's a realization that it has a real chance of happening and it slowly begins to drive Harry mad.

For the most part, he manages to keep the dirty thoughts at bay while they wander about the grounds in their small group. Zayn catches Harry's eye at one point then grazes down to his and Louis' locked hands. There's a knowing lit to the curl of his lips unlike that of Niall and Liam's sarcastic fond faces.

"Are we going to see Two Door Cinema Club or Cage the Elephant?" Liam asks, a list of the shows unfolded in his hands. They're slowly making their way through an emptier area where the lines for the food trucks begin

"We see the first half of Cinema Club's set, then move on to the other stage for the last half of the other band," Louis explains, purposely stepping on the back of Liam's heel and snickering when he stumbles. "Haven't you ever done this before, Payno?"

"I have done this before, thank you. I just like watching full sets rather than flitting between them like channels on the telly," Liam defends.

Harry catches Louis' eye roll. "Carpe diem," he then offers valiantly in his boyfriend's – wow, that's _incredible to say –_ honor. "I mean, when will we get to see either of them again?"

"The next time there's a music festival anywhere in this country," Zayn snorts. "Both of them play at, like, _every_ fest. I'd expect an indie music snob like yourself to know that."

Louis' hand tightens around Harry's when he whips his head in Zayn's direction. Niall takes an obnoxious sip of his soda at the same time Louis attacks.

"Oi! Stop with your bloody tings at me boy!"

Niall laughs, as does Liam, who must be glad the heat has been taken off him. Zayn and Louis begin bickering with each other like brothers which causes Harry's hand to get tugged around as Louis speaks in his gesticulative nature.

"Alright, no one answered my first question still," Liam cuts in abruptly. Louis lands one last playful whack on Zayn's shoulder before directing his attention to the map man.

"I don't care, whichever is closer I guess." Louis shrugs as their pack continues forward, all of them glancing around, examining the crowded grounds. 

It turns out that Two Door Cinema Club is playing at the main stage which is relatively close already. It's in plain view, but the area in front of it is already crowded with a mass of fans waiting for the set to start soon. Harry groans quietly as they approach the wall of backs and only Louis hears it. He pats their clasped hands then gives Harry a smile that makes every detail of his face seem softer.

"Things like this aren't really your scene, huh?" Louis asks him.

Harry shrugs and throws his hair back. "I mean, the environment is cool and performing here is great, but I'm not a fan of crowds. Packed clubs, general-admission concerts— I just don't get the appeal."

"I'm with ya, mate. Crowds are absolutely dreadful," Niall supplies as they finally stop in the area a little ways back from the stage. There are a few groups lingering in the clear space. It's much easier to stand here than fight for a spot closer up where you may get knocked out by a rogue elbow. 

"Oh yeah, you're claustrophobic aren't ya, Nialler?" Louis questions.

"'Fraid so. Get a few drinks in my system though and I'll tape myself up in a box with no complaints," he grins. "Lose all sense, honestly."

"All I need is someone I trust standing beside me. I'm usually good then," Harry supplies, subtly pressing his arm into Louis'.

"Aw, I trust you too Harry," Niall coos, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders. They both let out pleased laughter and, really, it's just that simple.

 

☾

 

It's ridiculous how easily Louis becomes the center focus of Harry's day. He's such an elusive creature. Everything he does attracts the attention of everyone around him and his presence can be felt from a mile away. Harry is certain that there are folk back in London who can feel the repercussions of Louis' laughter after he takes his third hit off their shared joint.

"Harry," Louis whispers over the chatter of their friends. They're sat at a picnic table and the sun is in the middle of its afternoon retreat somewhere among the ominous grey clouds, creating a dull glow over everything. Chips and hot dog wrappers and half-empty cups litter the surface in front of them. "Harrryyy. Harry, Hazza-"

"What do you want?" Harry asks, turning his attention from Liam to Louis.

Louis hands the roll over to Zayn. "Do you think it's going to rain?"

Harry eyes the sky and shrugs. "Yeah. Probably within the next hour or so. Why do you ask?"

Louis smiles and flutters his lashes. "It's hot and you're wearing a white shirt," he explains, petting an arm down Harry's chest for extra measure. 

"Oh, you want a show then, is that it?" Harry teases. He places a warm palm down on Louis' exposed thigh. 

"I want _you_ ," Louis says low and slow, seductive in a way Harry didn't know existed.

Harry obviously shifts as the words travel down his spine like lightning. He wants so badly to explain how much he wants Louis too, wants to kiss it into his mouth and burn it into his skin with his fingertips. All day long he's been on edge with having to see Louis prance around in shorts that barely cover the ass Harry caught glimpse of this morning. It's been a treacherous feat not getting himself off in a stranger's tent, and now Louis is admitting to reciprocating that feeling.

"Later," Harry tells him, not meeting his gaze in fear of what would be lying there. He pats Louis' leg and delves back into the flow of the other boys' conversation, trying to become interested in social issues as quickly as possible.

In the end, Harry is right. As they march over to a small stage to see some band that Niall loves, the sky opens up. Thousands of tiny droplets begin to fall upon them, sticking to their skin and dampening their hair. It's doable at first, but it doesn't take long before the bottom falls out and they're instantly turned to wet rags.

"You were right," Louis tells Harry offhandedly as they scurry under a canopy that's becoming more crowded by the second. 

They huddle together, all fluttery and loose from the weed, and Harry laughs as Louis scowls at everyone who bumps into him. Harry wraps a hand around his boy's bicep and tugs him in closer, away from the wild group behind him. Even when he's high, there's a protective nature that Harry only has with Louis. He's got no idea where it came from of why it claws out of him in the tiniest of instances, but it's there and Louis doesn't seem to mind.

"Bloody hell, where'd all this come from?" Liam asks bewilderedly. He gestures out towards the rain and frowns at his drenched button up.

"The sky I presume, clouds in particular," Zayn nods seriously.

"Yeah, Zayn's right, mate. Didn't you take science in school? Evaporation, condensation, all of that," Niall supplies to Liam's annoyance.

"No worries Payno, it's alright if you flunked out. We all had trouble remembering the water cycle," Louis soothes sarcastically, leaving Harry as the only good person here. "Remember: the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell."

"Oh sod off, the lot of you," he scowls in a way that's no more intimidating than a small cat. 

"Hey, I didn't do anything," Harry says, innocently placing a hand over his heart.

"And I appreciate that," Liam smiles, pointing at him. "You've got a kind soul. I don't know how or why you ended up with that devil beside you."

Louis huffs indignantly and cuddles closer into Harry's side. His dull fingernails dig into the base of Harry's back, gripping him tightly through the damp fabric.

"I know I don't deserve him, but he's my boyfriend so you _will_ respect our unorthodox relationship," Louis orders in a tone that isn't serious or sarcastic. "Besides, I'm only a nuisance to you guys. Harry only deserves sweetness and-"

"Wait right there, Tomlinson," Liam cuts in. "Backtrack for a second before you get all ridiculously soft. Did I hear you say _boyfriend?_ As in you two finally got your shit together?"

Their bashful smiles serve as silent validation.

"Thank God," Niall sighs, "I couldn't take that _'just friends'_ shit any longer. I was close to makin' a powerpoint to get you to stop being blind fucking idiots."

Louis snorts. "Glad everyone's proud of us. Or, well, proud of me I guess, because Harry wasn't blind. He just didn't have the heart to tell me to open my bloody eyes."

"I'd like to think it was my pep talk last week. I had to deal with cleaning up both sides of that mess and look where I got us." Zayn's suddenly rejoining the conversation with a wicked grin on his stupidly smug face. 

Liam and Niall are lost, but Harry and Louis look at each other. Louis' chin arches high and Harry's hair falls from the angle he has to tilt down. It's first instinct to join their lips when they're in such close proximity. It's chaste, quick, but a wonderful transfer of words that can't be spoken aloud.

"Thanks Z. You can officially be my best man and, uh, Niall can be Harry's," Louis offers.

Liam rolls his eyes and let's out a long, slow breath. "Yeah, yeah, back to harassing me of course. All's right in the world again."

 

☾

 

The rain continues to pour unrelentingly. It's been an indecent amount of time now and nearly everyone has cleared out of the tent, reasoning that wasting time hiding from something unavoidable won't do them any good. Louis comes to have a similar mindset.

They're in the midst of a conversation following funny drunken stories when Louis clasps Harry's wrist. Harry snaps his gaze to the boy, furrowing his brows when he meets wide blue eyes.

"C'mon, let's run," Louis says quietly, only loud enough for Harry to hear.

"But.. it's wet," Harry retorts, eyeing the muddy patches and miniature rivers of dirty water.

"That's the _fun_ part," Louis smiles sharp and wild. "Come on!"

With no further discussion, Louis tugs his hand from Harry's hold and sprints out into the open, screaming something that's either 'yeah' or 'ah'. Harry watches him twirl in the rain with the brightest smile ever seen. This appears to be Louis' element. It's an extension of his being; running free, splashing through muddy puddles, pushing his heavy fringe out of his eyes. He glows in the dreary environment.

It's only natural that Harry races towards him approximately fifteen seconds later.

"Oh, why didn't you tell me it's cold!" Harry yells when the water pellets settle on his skin. 

Louis scoffs. "Of course it's fucking freezing, what do you expect? This is England, not the tropics."

Harry lunges at him and traps him from behind, squeezing Louis' arms together and nearly making him topple over. Louis struggles in the tight hold but it's accompanied by laughter.

"Get your bloody tentacles offa me," Louis manages through his chuckles.

"Never," Harry mumbles into his ear. He twirls them around and keeps his face pressed into Louis' neck, feeling his heartbeat flutter rapidly in the veins there.

They're absolutely soaked now. Harry's long hair sticks uncomfortably to his neck and beads of water slide down the slopes of his face. Everything feels light, even as their highs are rapidly washing away under the spray. Their steps, their hearts, their laughter are all weightless. It's like as long as they're together, there's an impenetrable force field around them made of shimmering gold.

Louis twists around in Harry's arms. He puts enough space between them to see each other's full torsos, but not enough as to break the delicate trance they're stuck in. He places two fingers on Harry's abdomen then slowly starts walking them up, mesmerized by Harry's see-through shirt.

"Who made you, Harry Styles?" Louis mutters in a gentle tone. His fingertip starts tracing the outline of the dark butterfly tattoo. "You're.. ethereal. Literally the most beautiful thing ever."

Harry takes Louis' hand and smiles. "That's debatable considering you're a foot away from me looking like a polished marble sculpture." 

Louis shakes his head and scrunches his face when water starts dripping off the tip of his nose."I look like a drowned rodent. You, on the other hand, are somehow still shining away like the star you were meant to be."

"Is being sappy a side effect of the drugs? If it is, I fully support you getting high with Zayn every day," Harry says, looking over to the aforementioned boy. He, Niall, and Liam are all laughing in a huddle still, completely ignoring the rom-com-worthy moment happening meters away.

"I'm sappy all the time I just don't show it because it sounds dumb and makes me look dumb," Louis says petulantly, staring at Harry's lips and trailing his eyes down his torso in a thorough evaluation.

"Sappiness isn't dumb. It's flattering," Harry smiles. He grabs Louis' hand and jerks him to life, twirling them around. "Tell me _more_ about my beauty! Tell me _more_ about how I'm a star! Embrace your inner romantic, Tomlinson."

Louis starts laughing as the world spins around them. Everything is out of focus apart from Louis and it's comparable to how Harry's mind works— always lots of mess and scattered thoughts surrounding a single Louis Tomlinson. Harry may be a star, but Louis is the sun, the center of this galaxy and maybe another. He controls everything without knowing just how powerful of an entity he is. 

 

☾

 

Hours and hours after the rain has had it's fun, Harry finds himself stumbling alongside Louis in the familiar path to their tent. They’ve just left a show that’s already becoming a blur. All Harry can remember is Louis tangling thin fingers in his hair, and their bodies grinding together heatedly, Harry’s hand placed on Louis’ exposed thigh right below his bum. The other lads had groaned and forced them to leave, because there’s no telling how far they could have gone had no one interrupted.

Luckily the tent held up on its end of the waterproof deal. The ground outside is damp, but inside, the space is just as it was this morning. Sheets are rumpled, their belongings are clumped in a corner, and a single battery-powered lamp rests on Harry’s pillow. He flicks it on as Louis zips up the flap and covers the see-through screen, gaining them as much privacy as possible.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Harry groans when Louis straddles his waist and begins sucking on his jawline.

“So have I, fuck,” Louis sighs in a voice so wrecked already that it sends shivers through Harry’s body. “Every day. Every fucking morning and night since I met you I’ve waited for this. I’ve been itching to get my hands all over you and _in_ you so badly it hurts.”

“You want your hands _in_ me? _Both_ of them?” Harry jokes, moaning and grabbing onto Louis’ biceps as Louis’ bites get harder and more heated. Louis pinches him and pulls back, looking down at him. From the angle they’re at, Harry never thought Louis could look any more beautiful. They haven’t even _done_ anything and Louis already looks wrecked.

All of Harry’s sappy thoughts are at once drained out of him, because Louis forces his bum down into Harry’s groin and moves his hips in slow little circles, and the effect it has on him is _devastating_. He suddenly can feel every single movement, every time Louis’ fly catches on his for a fraction of a second, every breath Louis emits from his gorgeous mouth, and every flush of pleasure that runs up his spine from the minute contact.

" _God_ ," Harry whispers, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, "I want you so fucking bad."

He can feel Louis' breath hitch from where it's hitting his neck. "Gonna fuck you so good."

"Getting right dirty then are we?" Harry quips. He regrets his comment just as he says it, because Louis attaches his lips to Harry's neck and bites.

"Shut your mouth," Louis says as he pulls back. 

Harry whimpers but complies as Louis pushes him backwards and starts unbuttoning his jeans. Harry watches as Louis' tiny fingers work against his jeans and his boxers and finally skin and he can see a look of concern flash across his face for a fraction of a second before he leans down and licks Harry's tip.

Any coherent thoughts are sucked out of him through his dick when Louis starts to propper suck. His eyes drift closed and his mouth drifts open, letting tiny little whines slip out into the air, letting his fingers tangle into Louis' soft hair.

"Like that?" Louis asks as he pulls off with a pop, his lips spitty and puffy and red and beautiful. He begins to slowly run a finger around Harry's dry rim. Harry can feel the phantom stretch in his gut.

"I want you in me," Harry says, his voice surprisingly wrecked. He clears his throat before he speaks again. "Now."

Louis chuckles and sits back on his heels and looks down at Harry's body. "Eager."

"You're just so amazing," Harry says quietly.

Louis had turned around to produce a bottle of lube, but he turns back with a smile wider than Jupiter. "Don't you dare ruin this arousing moment with your sappy comments."

Harry just smiles and shuts his eyes as he feels two of Louis' lube slick fingers prod and poke around inside of him, letting moans slip out when Louis rubs his prostate, and eventually nudges Louis' thigh because he wants his _dick_ not his tiny digits.

"Alright, Christ," Louis says. Harry watched as Louis slowly unbuttons his jeans and pulls them off, tossing them to the side. He makes quick work of rolling on a rubber before lubing himself up.

Truthfully, Harry's never felt this good in his life. Louis' cock isn't so long that he can feel it in his stomach or something, but he's thick enough that he feels every single little movement Louis makes inside of him. Every minute thrust Louis makes into him elicits a string of moans and a ripple of pleasure, coursing through his veins.

Louis isn't relentless, he isn't harsh, and he isn't fast. He takes it slow, kissing Harry's neck and cheeks and lips and nipping his pecks and whispering things like _you're so amazing_ and _you're so tight for me_ into his ear and it drives Harry _mad_.

Harry doesn't know when he comes, but he knows he blacks out for a few seconds and when he wakes up his chest is sticky and Louis is peering down at him, his pupils dilated, his skin shiny with sweat, a curious smile on his face, and his dick still pulsing with the need to release inside of Harry.

"Alright, love?" Louis asks, his arms beginning to shake from holding up his weight.

In a split second Harry's sex drive shoots back up and he makes the executive decision to push Louis' shoulders back and down so he's seated on top of him and his hands are on Louis' cheeks.

"Lemme make you come," Harry says.

"Won't be too long," Louis hints. Harry smiles as Louis grabs onto his hips as he starts to bounce himself, his muscles a little weak from his orgasm.

Louis was right when he said it wouldn't be too long, because he's digging his fingernails into Harry's hips and gripping harder than before in minutes. Louis barely gets out an _I'm gonna come_ before Harry halts and their bodies are both still, frozen together in the heat of space and time.

When Louis pulls out and tosses the used rubber out of the tent with a grin, Harry opens his arms. Louis burrows himself into Harry's side easily, sticky with sweat but happy all the same. 

"You're so incredible," Harry flatters into the mess that's Louis' hair.

Louis sighs contently. His fingers lazily trace across Harry's torso, making invisible constellations on his flushed skin. "But never as much as you."

 

☾

 

In the morning, the space next to Harry is crumpled and empty. This would be worrying if he had time to process it before he's being brought to consciousness by the tent's previous occupant yelling and crawling on top of him. Harry's heart races due to the startle, but when he meets Louis' eyes, they're full of life and it's only natural that calmness floods through Harry instantly.

"Good morning, pop star, today's the day!" Louis exclaims, too loud in the small space. When Harry only hums in response, Louis mock frowns and bounces once on his stomach. Harry doesn't have the energy to make it sexual. "C'mon, yeah? 'Appy days!"

"Quit whining," Harry groans with a lazy grin. His face is tired. "'M very excited."

"You don't sound it." Louis becomes quieter as he softly brushes Harry's hair from his face. He twirls a curl around one finger absentmindedly.

Harry resists the temptation to shut his eyes under the gentle touch. "I just woke up, Lou. What d'you want from me?"

"I'd like for you to join us outside for a complimentary breakfast from McDonald's without you acting like a zombie. I wouldn't be afraid to pour syrup on you," Louis threatens as he starts to lean closer to Harry's face.

Harry raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Sounds kinky.”

Louis snorts as he kisses a random spot on Harry’s face, patting his chest fondly. “You’re too much. Get up now, for real. You need time to glam up and mingle before your set."

With that, Harry shakes off his sleep and tackles the morning. He scarfs down warm pancakes then drags Louis with him to the showers, where Louis gets him off under the hazy spray. It's something Harry could happily get used to. Louis also decides to wash Harry's hair for him without any argument from the receiving party. His blunt fingernails scrape Harry's scalp so softly and thorough that Harry wonders if he's done this before.

For a second, he feels the dark heat of jealousy in the deepest pit of his gut, but then he remembers Louis' four sisters. The image of a teenage Louis washing and styling their hair during their younger years when his mum was too busy to is one Harry doesn't need in his head. The contrast between the fond pictures and the sexual ones residing side by side in his brain shouldn't be acceptable.

Dressed and polished, Harry takes a look in the mirror. This time he sees himself staring back, bright eyes and flushed cheeks, no grey shadows or sad eyes. It's the reflection of success, or finally getting somewhere and starting a new era of his life. Beside him, Louis rests his chin on Harry's shoulder. Harry doesn't have to look down to know that he's standing on his toes. 

This is how things were meant to be, he thinks. He was meant to play that gig, fall asleep in a booth, find this bright eyed, exuberant boy willing to hand a third of his heart over to Harry. Fate plays a huge role in his life, but her greatest move so far was giving him Louis.

Thinking of their happiness leads him to their flaws. It's been a week since the fateful night that was doomed to wreck the worst havoc. A week since the stars within them collided, leaving nothing but regret behind. For what it's worth, Harry is glad that he can look back at it seven days later and laugh at how ridiculous the fight was. It may hurt to think about the details, but laughing it off is a step towards forgetting and driving toward their future.

"What're you thinking about?" Louis asks quietly, his sharp chin digging into Harry's bone with each word.

"Me, us, everything," Harry responds vaguely. "You mostly."

"Well isn't that flattering." He sounds like fresh spring and smells like a cinnamon autumn. Harry takes in his summer scoop neck and vintage sports jacket, then his silver eyes of winter.

"I'm glad to have you, you know? So glad." Harry meets his gaze in the mirror and they exchange soft smiles. 

"I'm glad I was a needy prick and forced you to stay with me," Louis jokes. "Really was a long shot there. The fact that you actually listened is still hilarious."

"What can I say? It was your irresistible charm that drew me in. I can't say no to someone who acts like they've never been told no in their life."

"You could've, but you and I both know you didn't want to," Louis reasons. 

Harry smiles. "You're right."

"Always am," Louis states before patting Harry's bum. "And don't you forget it.”

 

☾

 

Harry's eyes have been trained on him for minutes now. The familiar quiff is much higher and softer than it was a number of days ago. He’s laughing at a joke some stranger is saying and Harry is patiently waiting for their conversation to die out so he can plan his approach.

The heat of Louis’ palm warms his spine and reminds him who he belongs with, as if he’s forgotten. Nick may have stolen his attention once, but it was never enough to outshine the adoration he has for Louis. He wants to reassure Louis of it, but decides not to because jealous Louis is a bit more attractive than he'd ever care to admit.

"Oi, Grimshaw!" The exclamation pulls Nick's gaze over to them and before Harry knows it, he's being tugged into a group hug. "Oh get off, you prat," Louis grumbles, wiggling his way out of Nick's grasp.

"You called me over, mate. You've got to learn to accept affection," Nick teases. He stands in an outfit that displays a more eclectic fashion taste than Harry's. Wellies, jean shorts, and an army jacket over a blue blouse– somehow it all works.

"I barely accept it from my _boyfriend,_ nevertheless from you," Louis responds in a playfully firm tone.

He's been throwing the label around a lot lately. Whenever the opportunity arises, Louis takes it. Harry embarrassingly has to bite down a smile every time he says it. There's just something about the term that makes him feel loved, and even if he hasn't got around to declaring it yet, its effect is quite clear. 

Nick raises his brows. "Boyfriends, eh?" 

"Yeah, it's.. a recent development," Harry tries, unsure if that's the right response or not.

"I see. Well, I mean, good for you guys. Honestly, I'm happy for you, Tomlinson, even if this makes me feel like an even bigger dick for trying to woo young Harold last week." Nick's smiling as he says it but Harry can hear his unease.

"It's fine, alright? We were dancing around each other and vague about our feelings and all that shit," Louis waves off with a shrug. "It's not your fault you jumped when you thought you could."

"I just thought he was oddly attached to you or something, not proper _interested_ or anything like that," Nick replies.

“Heyy,” Harry frowns. Louis laughs and claps his back.

“Well Louis fucked off and all you would talk about was him. What was I supposed to think?” Nick asks. “But that’s beyond the point. You two are together, congratulations, now Harry, tell me how you feel being in the lineup today.”

“He’s not even excited, I swear. I’ve tried hyping him up all morning but he won’t fucking give me any proper emotion,” Louis grumbles. 

“I have! I’m just not off the walls twenty-four-seven like you lot are,” Harry retorts defensively. He knocks Louis’ side as he pushes his hair back. “I’m well excited. Well _anxious_.”

Nick nods. “I don’t blame you. This is pretty big compared to your usual shows, isn’t it?”

“Massive,” Harry exaggerates with a growing smile.

He’s caught in a web of disbelief. Around him are singers and celebrities he sees in the tabloids and in front of him stands a man who talks to them on the daily. Harry is _here_. 

“You’ll do great, kid,” Nick smiles sweetly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be right off stage ready to give you a big hug unless this one gets to you first,” he says, referring to Louis. 

It could be a trick of the eye, but Harry swears he sees Louis duck his head with a bashful smile. 

“I’d love that.”

Nick gets called away for radio duties, leaving Harry and Louis alone in a sea of strange faces. They huddle in a corner of the gated area while Louis lights a cigarette. He gives Harry an apologetic look and claims that it’s been a full day since his last smoke and he’s getting antsy. Harry shrugs and slouches against the fence beside him, getting lost in his thoughts.

His eyes are drawn to Louis, watching the way his loose sweater slides down one shoulder as he holds his hand to his mouth. He’s a contradiction to everything Harry is— elusive, enigmatic, powerful. He’s beautifully tragic and tragically beautiful, and Harry’s never been so compelled by anything before.

After Louis stamps the cig out under his sneaker, Niall appears with a bright grin and a sweating beer in his hand. Over his shoulder, Zayn and Liam are having some sort of argument with the security guard complete with hand flailing. Harry’s just about to go over and intervene when they stumble forward and join the group.

“Thanks for leaving us, mate, really appreciated it,” Zayn deadpans at Niall. “The security didn’t believe that we were with you boys. Ridiculous. As if this place is that special anyways.”

“If it isn’t special then why are you here?” Louis asks. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, you fuck,” Zayn groans, rolling his dark eyes. 

“I love you Zayn,” Louis says. He steps behind Zayn and hooks around his neck, rocking their bodies back and forth. “My best friend, partner in crime, fellow man of little patience.”

Zayn blinks and smirks. “Careful, you’ll make Harry jealous.”

They find two empty couches to occupy. A small table sits between them covered with empty cups and bowls holding green apples. Harry’s tired of wasting time. He’s ready to get out there and perform, feel the rush of adrenaline in his veins. But there’s not much he can do when his friends only want to sit and drink and be lazy as if they’re back in hazy London.

He’s a star. He needs to burn. He needs to live.

 

☾

 

"This is it.”

“I know.

“This is _it_.”

“Fucking hell, Lou, I _know_.”

Louis’ grip is firm on both of Harry’s shoulders. His eyes are wide, blue, and anchoring. Harry’s palms are sweaty around the neck of his guitar and he has to look down at Louis in these damned platforms. Somewhere in the distance a woman calls Harry’s name but he can’t be bothered. Right now, he needs this last boost of encouragement. A last drop of Louis to bring him back to reality.

“You’re going to fucking kill it out there.” He looks over Harry’s shoulder and releases a heavy breath. It’s obvious he just caught a glimpse of the crowd once again, the bodies an orange afternoon blur behind Harry. “Christ, that’s more people than I thought there’d be.”

Harry’s slot somehow ended up in a particularly blank space in the showtimes. The only other performances at the moment are two bands on the smaller stages, giving people more reason to book over to see this unknown Harry Styles. He feels like he’s got a greater obligation to put on a good show now. More faces, more souls, more eyes to entertain.

“I’ve gotta go now,” Harry tells Louis, gently prying the feeble hands from his body.

“Alright,” Louis nods. “I’ll be here. Obviously.”

“Thank you,” Harry feels the need to say.

Louis sends him a soft smile in return and pecks his lips quickly. “Go fuck it up out there.”

And fuck it up Harry does.

From the second he steps out into the blinding light of the sun, he’s in a pleasant trance. He introduces himself to a satisfying cheer. His fingers feel tingly against the strings and his throat is tight when he starts his first song. With the unnerving feelings though comes the rush of power in standing above a sea of heads and having everything from eyes to cameras aimed at him.

By the time his set is halfway through, there are numerous voices singing his lyrics back and even more people have crawled from around the fields and piled up at the back of the crowd. There’s no telling what people are posting about him online or what they’re whispering to their friends but he finds himself not caring. He’s completely absorbed in his music, reciting lyrics he’s got etched into the grooves of his brain. It all feels natural. Nothing about it is different from the times he finds himself in odd bars in the dirty depths of London.

“Now, I wrote this final song with a very good friend of mine. I actually only met him a few months ago, but he’s the one who brought me here in front of all of you and the one who probably deserves to be sent a cake or summat,” Harry laughs. "Ed Sheeran is this lovely man’s name.”

The cheers rattle the Earth. 

“I figured a few of you would recognize him,” he jokes with a grin, receiving satisfactory hollers. Harry’s heart kicks up its rate now. He can just sense Louis’ gaze on him and it makes him hot under his nonexistent collar. “He helped me figure a lot of things out. We sort of just sat down, then he ordered pizza and told me to tell him everything, all of my feelings and what have you.” Quiet laughter. “What came of all of that is this song. This is for all of you out there who have that one friend who will _never_ be just a friend, no matter how much you both insist that that’s all it is. It’s a song telling you to wake the fuck up and not hide your feelings away, because when you think it’s something more, it almost always is. This.. is _Friends_.”

A shuddering breath and a strum of the first chords. He doesn’t have the guts to glance at Louis because he doesn’t know what he’d find. Louis is smart enough to realize that this song is about them, about _him_ , but how he’ll take it is uncertain.

As Harry gets into the song, the crowd falls silent. They aren’t bored, but instead they’re interested enough to stay quiet to hear every word and appreciate every emotion. At least, that’s what Harry is hoping.

_“Friends just sleep in another bed, and friends don’t treat me like you do. And I know that there’s a limit to everything, but my friends won’t love me like you.”_

_“No my friends will never love me like you_ ,” he finishes with a final exhale. He’s engulfed by applause as soon as he drops his hand. The smile that breaks across his face is one for the record books.

Just when he’s about to thank everyone, the cheers get louder and he’s observant enough to see every pair of eyes lock on something just beside where Harry stands. His chest constricts as he turns, but he doesn’t get time to look for anything before he’s attacked by a body. Cinnamon hits him and he wraps his arms around Louis instinctively. He’s confused but holds him tightly nevertheless, eyes closed and guitar forgotten by his side.

Then Louis pulls back and for the split second that Harry sees his eyes, they’re glazed over and watery. He has no time for questions before Louis presses their lips together, causing an uproar offstage. Somewhere amidst the supportive cries there’s probably homophobic booing and pessimistic eye rolling, but Harry doesn’t care. Louis is in his arms. Louis is against his skin. Louis is with him in every way, flooding all his senses. 

Their lips move together in natural synchrony. Louis’ thin ones slot perfectly between Harry’s, warm and wet and an absolute fantasy. He tastes like spearmint and vanilla. They only separate for the sake of preserving the assumed innocence of the viewers below.

“I love you so much, Harry,” Louis tells him in a shaky voice. The water built up in his eyes drops in small tears, rolling down his cheeks, leaving glistening tracks in their wake. “I really do. I’m so, so in love with you. So bloody in love.”

Harry’s not sure what’s happening. Louis loves him. That’s what’s happening. Louis just said he’s in love with Harry. And they’re standing on a stage in front of approximately five hundred people. _Nice._

‘I love you too, Louis,” Harry whispers with blurring vision and the best smile he can manage.

Louis returns the favor then breaks their eye contact to look to his side. “I didn’t think this through,” he laughs, wiping away at his face.

“No, you really didn’t. But that’s part of your allure.” Harry steps backwards and takes hold of the microphone again, laughing at the absurdity of this situation. Everyone’s attention is either on him or their friends, but even in the latter case, their fingers or phones are pointing towards him. “Sorry for this little scene. I guess I should tell you all that _Friends_ was actually written about this guy who just ran on stage and he didn’t know about the song until right now. So, you know. Emotions get the better of even the most stoic people.”

“Thank you all for taking time out of your day to stare at me, I really appreciate it. Please check out my EP on iTunes and stay safe the rest of the evening,” Harry waves. “You were incredible. Goodbye!”

His trek off stage feels like a mile. As soon as he sets foot in the lounge area backstage, Nick, Zayn, Liam, and Niall are all there waiting for them, humored expressions on all of their faces. Harry and Louis let them get all of the cooing and mockery out. Hugs are exchanged along with jovial punches and fond hair-ruffles.

When they’re left alone again, Harry doesn’t know what to say. He may still be in shock. No, he most definitely is in shock. There’s no doubt about it. As for Louis, he just seems to be giving Harry time to recover, shuffling back and forth on his feet. 

“You were incredible,” Louis finally speaks up. 

“Thanks,” Harry manages. He’s unsettled and Louis seems to sense this. He purses his lips and opens his arms for Harry to easily fall into.

The embrace is warm and comforting. Louis guides him from his high, back down to Earth. Harry mumbles an appreciative hum into Louis’ neck then pulls back, rubbing his neck.

“I actually have something for you,” Louis tells him unexpectedly. Harry watches as he digs two fingers into his front pocket and pulls out a small object that catches the sunlight.

Louis grabs Harry’s hand and holds it delicately as he slides a ring onto his ring finger. It’s heavy, silver and has a turquoise gem in the center. The color matches Louis’ eyes on the odd day when they aren’t green or grey. Harry marvels at it and squeezes Louis’ hand in a silent thanks.

“This is what I bought when we were at that thrift shop,” Louis explains. “Well, I didn’t even buy it really. The girl at the counter practically forced me to take it, saying that she saw how much I like you and knew how much you deserved it. She also told me I should wait to give it to you when I felt it was right, so I figured I'd do this now because this seemed like a pretty special occasion.” He stops his story to chuckle at his feet. “I guess I made it a bit more spectacular than it needed to be, though.”

“No, you made it perfect. And this ring.. it’s perfect too,” Harry boasts. “It’s beautiful. Thank you so much, Lou, honestly, this is really sweet of you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. I’ll be back to my old unromantic self by tomorrow,” Louis tries.

“And that’ll be fine with me,” Harry smiles. They meet for a kiss that sends love straight to Harry’s veins, turning his blood to gold. He could never guess how he got so lucky. 

 

☾

 

Over the next month, a video of Louis running on stage goes viral, sending Harry’s popularity skyrocketing. All of the tweets and articles lead to where he is now, sitting at a mahogany desk, a pen in his hand and a stack of papers splayed out in front of him. 

“We just need your final signature at the bottom of this page and it’ll be official,” a woman - whose name Harry hasn’t memorized yet - says with a smile. Harry takes a deep breath and then exhales as he presses down and loops the letters of his name on the last line of the paper. She then retrieves the papers and the pen as Harry stands, feeling like something great lies just ahead of him. 

A hand sticks out and Harry shakes it, meeting the owner’s eye with a glorious smile. “Welcome to the family, Harry. I’m sure you’ll find _great_ success with us.”

“I’m sure I will too, sir,” he says firmly. He can only keep up the formal act for mere seconds before he cracks and pulls Ed in for a hug, practically crushing his bones in the strong hold. “Thank you so much. Fucking hell, mate, you’ve literally changed my life.”

“Ah, it’s all in a day’s work,” Ed grins with a final pat to Harry’s back. “You better not make me regret signing you. I’ve only got two people on the label so far, so I can’t have you throwing a diva fit and escaping to Ibiza before you even drop your first official single.”

“As if I’d go there for my diva getaway. I’d pick somewhere like Los Angeles to flee to. I feel like that’s where my people are,” Harry explains dreamily.

“I know, you and your health-conscious, high-fashion people. Quit talking shit and go hug Louis before he strangles me,” Ed laughs. “I’ve seen him glaring at me this entire time we've been talking. Haven’t ya been, Tommo?”

Louis appears from somewhere in the distance and smiles dangerously sweetly. “Just let me ‘av my boy, will you.”

Ed raises his hands in surrender and backs away, letting Louis hug Harry mightily. When they’re together, Harry feels like he’s already conquered the world. No fame or fortune could overtake the absolute triumph he feels when he remembers that Louis is his. Louis has been his for months, all the way since the first time they met. Louis has been his since he was woken by his fearful scream, has been his since the first morning they awoke together, and will always be his unless Fate decides to have her own way.

But from the way things have gone so far, Fate has been on their sides. Harry doesn’t expect any less in the future. No matter how many new faces he comes across, new places he visits, new colors and galaxies he discovers, Louis will always be his constant. 

"I've got a free couch if you need it tonight," Louis offers casually, eyes squinted with the force of his bitten-down grin.

Harry shakes his head, humored. He traces Louis' jaw and watches his ring catches a single beam of light filtering through the window. "That'd be wonderful."

 

**Author's Note:**

> please leave comments and kudos, they both mean a ton!


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